Saisei
by Esse
Summary: It's about Seifer, and it's about Zell, but mostly it's about struggling with mediocrity. Life's nothing like their childhood ambitions.
1. Prosery, Note, and a Warning

Howdy, folks!

The Saisei stories have been written over a long span of years. The first was finished up in 2001, to the best of my recollection — and the use of my fingers for counting backwards. So, there's style changes, as to be expected, and a slow drift towards a unifying plot-like thingie. I'm slowly adding more stories — but it'll be a while before there's any kind of satisfactory conclusion.

Yiddle Warning: Seifer and Zell like each other. If you can't stand the pairing, don't read the fics.

And, so as to not violate FFnet's posting rules, here's silly babble so the chapter actually contains content(prologue? Theme song? Background mood music?) and not _just_ an author's note (seeing as how each ficcie already _has_ author's notes…). Those wanting to get to the fics, jump ahead. Those that like silly babble that have nothing to do with the fics, read on.

Updated: 01-05-06  
Saisei's Journey added.

Way back in 2001 I went through a spurt of inane Saizeru prosery (poetry written by a hack with an incomplete grasp of the English language). Here's the first of many, a conversation between Seif and Zell, and your guess as to who's who is as good as mine.

so, y' see, i was a'thinkin'  
_you were thinking?_  
yeah, no biggie, so i sat  
_what a surprise!_  
uh-huh, watch me roll my eyes  
and i thought,  
_there's nothin' greater!_  
huh?  
_than to run a little later!_  
i'm tryin' t' tell a story...  
_but babe, you're always boring_  
i was **thinking!**  
_you were drinking_  
that too, but here's my idea:  
if we waited...  
_we _have_ waited, and my appetite's unsated  
while you drone on with your story, which admit,  
is rather boring_  
and i refuse to be baited  
so quit all this bemoaning, and listen,  
for a minute— that's what we should've waited...  
_my heart's all twitterpated!_  
...that's a word?  
_how should i know?  
and your story goes...?_  
a minute, just a minute!  
_which is what we should have waited?_  
uh...  
_while our desires go unsated?_  
umm...  
_and my heart's all twitterpated?_  
i suppose... i do forget, what i thought was so urgent  
whilst lost in argument...  
_i've not once disagreed!_  
but you do ignore my pleas, see me now?  
i'm on my knees...  
_and don't think i don't appreciate  
your position, on your knees, begging won't i please  
just shut up and let you speak  
so i'll reciprocate, and quieten so you'll relate  
your most awesome idea, for which we both must wait  
a minute at the most..._  
a minute, there, or close...  
_for what?_  
i've no idea! it all started with a thought  
which by now i've lost, in the muddle of our words  
_hell yeah, i'm pretty groovy!_  
i give up, let's catch a movie...  
_...but you're still on your knees...  
and now i've an idea of my own..._  
watch me smile and walk away!  
_you're such a tease!_  
i want to hear it! reap what you've...  
_sown, i know the saying  
but i'm not used to asking, point of fact  
i'm used to masking, but if that's all you need to hear_  
well, it's a start  
_i'll say my part! if that's how you want to play..._  
go ahead  
_...make my day!_  
so, no 'baby, rock my world?' or 'do your worst  
i'll never break?'  
_you've got quite the ego, but i'll stroke it, stoke it, we go..._  
way back, i know, it's true...  
_the only one i need is you._

12-30-05  
First three Saisei stories posted.

_Here's the story, of the lovely Zellie  
Who worked down at the corner grocery store  
He had hair of gold, though he didn't spike it  
'Cept when feeling bored_

_Here's the story, of a man named Seifer  
Who was living with a yap-yap of his own  
They were content, in their grungy apartment  
Yet they were all alone_

_Till the one day when our Zellie met this fellow  
At the hotdog stand to grab a bite of lunch  
That this odd grouping thought themselves a family  
That's the way they all became a screwed up bunch  
Some crunch-a-munch, some spiked fruit punch_

_That's not in these fics, I've got a hunch!_

Contrary to the above, the Saisei stories are actually sorta, kinda serious. Imagine that. And not much like the ditty.

What? My parody theme isn't good enough for FFnet's iron fist? Hmph.

_These stories are all about Seifer  
Whom Esse pronounces like Keifer  
__It shortens to Seif  
__Which sounds just like leaf  
Hey, what are you looking at me f'r?_

Ehn. It's supposed to be a limerick, though I can't get the 3 foot, 2 foot thing down, no matter how I try. Short short long, short short long, or un- un- stressed, un- un- stressed. aabba! Heh, if I were Shakespeare — well, I'd be dead. And a guy. A dead, English guy. Who'd demand royalties, dammit!

Still not good enough? Geesh, what's with you people tattling to FFnet? Fine.

_his heart is fragile  
frost gives way to soft blossoms  
a snarl of pale warmth_

There. A haiku. And if ffviii poems ain't good enough for chappie one, you're no friends of mine. Besides, I'm more of a proet. What are you doing down here? Go read the stories already!


	2. Saisei

_**Disclaimer:** If I write them OOC often enough, can _Square_ still claim them as their own? I guess it doesn't matter; they have lawyers on their side, and if they claimed Esse stole the Goodyear blimp, the court's gonna find her guilty. Now if Esse had any money, she could fight them, but sadly, no one's yet t' cut her a single check for her plethora of fanfic efforts. Life is _so_ not fair. _

_**Notes:** This is supposed t' be a birthday ficcie for Becca. However… I wasn't able t' fit in a single one of her requests.; Ah… maybe next year? _

_**Warnings:** None. Well, I think I used damn once. Eee, make that twice, now. Mmm, and there might be a few other colorful words as well. And the plot meanders — if a casual afternoon can have a plot. _

_**Thank-you:** To Emily :shakes her head: I dunno why you beta for me, but I sure do appreciate it! _

**Saisei**

He didn't mind being alone. People tended to crowd too near, and look too closely; he had nothing left to hide, but wasn't yet prepared to subject his psyche to scrutiny. Let others bare their hearts and search their souls; he was content to let past mistakes settle and fade with the passage of time. It had been hard, those first few months after, to let go of his guilt, his anger, his hatred. How he had hated; himself, those that would call themselves his friends, those who took pride in being his enemies — hated them all with a burning passion that consumed every small flickering of feeling, until, lacking nourishment, it had burned itself out, leaving nothing behind but a blackened, cooling void where once his dearest dreams had resided.

Being alone, he did not mind, but loneliness… Loneliness tugged at his sleeves, a fretful, frightened, large-eyed hollow-cheeked child who wanted to be loved, adored, soothed and taken care, whose family had left it behind, discarded — never to be reclaimed. Loneliness was what kept him going; going out, going among people who crowded and looked and walked away from him smugly. Yet still he went out, him and the lonely, grieving child — both of them wishing, hoping to find something, someone who could ease the pain away.

And it had worked. He had looked; he had found — he had been found. And now, years later, he no longer minded being alone. The apartment he kept was a small one; a place for sleeping, a place for eating, a place for taking care of the basic functions of life. He owned a couch, second-hand; a cast-off from an acquaintance more fortunate than he. He was owned by a dog, a cast-off as well; a thing of bright eyes and long hair that fit comfortably in the crook of his arm, a throne from which she ruled her small realm. He possessed gainful employment; a job that cared as little for him as he did for it. And he was possessed by a love that had filled all the emptied places inside; that left him warm when other's coldness threatened to chill him.

Such was his life. He got up in the mornings and went to work. He came home in the evenings and sat on his couch, Saisei a comforting lump in his arms, and watched reruns 20 years old on the little black and white set he'd found at a yard sale a few months back. And he'd wait; sometimes for an hour, sometimes all night, and sometimes — sometimes the wait was in vain. But that couldn't be helped. He was patient, with all the practice he'd gotten in waiting.

A knock sounded on the door, and he smiled. More than a curving of lips, it resided in the tilt of his head and the gentleness of his fingers as he sat the small dog down. It was early — golden treacle-evening not yet tinged with the somber colors of night. Hours, he had hours ahead of him, as many as he wanted, for there was no need for a self-imposed bedtime when he had all of tomorrow off. "It's open," he called out, making no attempt to get off of the couch.

"Of course it's open, it's always open," came the answering voice, while the door swung inwards, dragging against the napped carpet. Saisei's ears perked forward, then back; her tiny black nose crinkled in an orgy of sniffing. A familiar scent — a well-known scent, and she was off the sofa in one wriggling, sliding movement and across the room, as fast as her short legs could carry her.

The man on the couch snorted, and moved on with the next step of the ritual. "Why should I lock it when I have such a loyal protector?"

Saisei, ferocious watch-dog that she was, had bellied up, exposing her pale pink tummy in the hopes of adoration and a good rub. She was very seldom refused, for she handled disappointment poorly.

"Aye, so fierce…" Slim fingers ran through silky white fur, while laughter rumbled deep inside the visitor's chest. "With such a guardian, of course there is no need for you to worry. Tch, little one," he scolded the dog, who had nipped playfully but not hard, "I need those, you know…" He sighed, and stood, closing the door behind him. "And how was your day, Seif?"

The man on the couch inclined his head while lifting up Saisei, who had come scampering back to him, consistent in the fickleness of her affections. "Much like every other day. I know it may come as a surprise, but painting tacky ceramic figurines just isn't as rewarding as I thought it would be. And yours?"

"My day was wonderful, as always. I get to stack fruit into large pyramids, which invariably get knocked down by pushy, bovine women, thus insuring my job security. We got in a delivery of honeydews this morning; I brought one — I thought we could share."

"Sounds good; sit it on the counter." Seifer stood and walked into the kitchen, his slippered feet sliding on the transition from carpet to dingy linoleum. He pulled open a drawer at random; organization was a skill he'd lost during that time when he'd lost so many other things as well. There was a clutter of silverware: spoons, forks, tongs and spatulas and an amazing variety of knives. He pulled out one he thought might work, observing the edge with a knowledgeable eye. "You know where the plates are."

"Yeah right. I know where they're _supposed_ to be; if you let me put away the dishes, I wouldn't have to spend near the time looking…"

"Paper'll work." The scarred man thumped the wooden handle of the knife against the honeydew consideringly. "How much should I cut?"

"Whatever you feel like. I'll dice up what's left and stick it in the fridge. You'll need to remember to eat it tomorrow, though. Any longer than that, and it's liable t' get mushy." He reached up to pull down the plates from the cupboard, and one golden eyebrow raised in surprise. "Chinet. Getting fancy, aren't ya?"

"Had a coupon…" he mumbled, embarrassment staining his cheeks. It was true he'd had a coupon, but he'd still paid far more than he'd originally budgeted for on that particular shopping trip, a mistake that was going to haunt him when he came up 100 gil short on the next month's rent. He had yet to figure out what to do.

"I bet." Wisely, Zell chose not to pursue the subject. Instead, he opened a new cupboard, and began searching for the chipped yet still serviceable Corelle he knew to be hiding somewhere in shadowed corners; those, at least, were washable, while the paper plates could be saved for some other occasion. Not a special occasion, no, but for some evening when both were too tired to observe the social niceties of china settings and floral napkin rings and place mats of complimentary colors.

"You would." The other man made an abortive motion to smooth down his ruddy-blonde hair; a year spent as a short-order chef had taught him proper hygienic behavior towards the preparation of food, if very little else. Instead, he laid thick slices of pale-green melon onto the proffered plates, arranging them artfully more from habit than conscious choice. "Fork or knife?"

"Surprise me." Taking up his plate, the smaller man walked back to the couch, curling himself up at the far end, much to Saisei's annoyance. The bit of fluff gave the intruder a _look_ designed to quell the most righteous of individuals, then sighed in frustrated doggy annoyance and flopped herself down against her antagonist's right foot.

Seifer leaned over the high back of the sofa, the hand that wasn't currently occupied with a dish of honeydew holding a selection of silverware. "Surprises aren't nearly as much fun as they used to be. Surprise takes away a person's ability to choose. It's a surrendering of your will; the choice has been made, and from that moment forward they must live their lives according to someone else's whimsical dictates."

"Uh-huh," Zell agreed facetiously, grabbing up a dulled knife and sticking it in close to the rind. "You just didn't want t' go back into the kitchen if I didn't like what ya brought." He cut out a square, and raised it to his mouth, biting it delicately off the end of the knife. He chewed, azure eyes considering, while the other man sat at the opposite end. "It's okay to make decisions, you know."

"Hmm?" The scarred blonde broke off a chunk of melon with his fork, then pushed it to the edge of his plate, where it was soon joined by others of a similar size. He didn't want to disagree, but he'd learned long since that decisions called for a level of responsibility he was uncomfortable with. When he had been younger — then, he'd made decisions. Wrong decisions. Spectacularly bad decisions that showed a lack of judgment and maturity that he was still in the process of owning up to. He'd leave the narrowing of choices to those more prepared to deal with the consequences. "And is there a problem in not making them?"

Golden lashes fluttered over burning-bright eyes, and the younger man gave the question due consideration. "No… But if you don't decide, you don't move on. You bend and sway in whatever direction people decide to push you…" Almost angrily he sliced off another wedge of melon, munching on it in the hopes of blocking the flood of words that threatened to spill. "It's a survival mechanism, is all it is — but don't you think it's time you tried _living_ again?"

As if sensing her master's discomfort, Saisei shuffled over to him, draping herself across his knees. Absent-mindedly, Seifer began soothing her fur, strands of pale hair pulling loose, catching on old gunblade calluses that had yet to fade, though it had been years since he'd last picked up a weapon.

"I'm happy." The words were quiet, settling into the small room to rest amid the layers of dust coating the accumulated bric-a-brac decorating the apartment. "What's so wrong with that?"

Zell shrugged, a minimal movement of shoulders and arms, already rebuking himself for bringing the subject up. "Nothing. Nothing at all." He nibbled a bit more at the rind, then sat the plate on the floor, where hopefully he'd remember it, and not accidentally kick it across the carpet when next he stood. "A lot of people aren't…and wish they could be." He leaned back, careful of the spring that was making its way through the worn cushioning. "But are you happy because you have everything you want, or because you haven't allowed yourself to want anything at all?"

The taller man continued playing with his food, occasionally pausing to pet the small, demanding warmth on his legs. "There're things — I want," and his voice almost broke on the last word, but he'd had long practice in hiding his feelings, and a small amount of yearning could be easily excused, betraying none of his secrets, "but I'm content with what I have. Asking for more would just be selfish."

"Selfishness ain't necessarily a bad thing. And people aren't naturally altruistic; it goes against every survival instinct we have. We're greedy bastards, every last one of us, excluding a few saints — and most of them don't last too long." He closed his eyes, tired from the day, and tired from having variations of the conversation so many times before. It made him reckless. "Tell me what you want, Seif. We'll play make-believe."

"A game of Let's Pretend?" Seifer hunched in on himself, bringing Saisei up to his chest while setting his plate on the floor. "Why not? I'll start with my job. I'd have an occupation that commanded respect; not so much the respect of others, but… I want to wake up in the mornings, and know that if I don't show up, it'll make a difference to someone. They'll look around, and wonder to themselves, 'Where's Almasy? I hope that he's not sick…' A job where they'll woo me back, if I get an offer from a rival firm; where they care that they've hired Seifer Almasy, and not just any slob from off the street." His mouth tightened, and for long moments he did nothing but stroke the pale dog nestled in his arms.

"I'd have a house. A single story should be enough. And I'd have neighbors that drop by in the evenings, and invite me to weekend barbeques — which I'd have to refuse, because I'd've already made other plans — the Garden Festival is supposed to be lovely this year, and I'd want to show up a little beforehand so I'll have time to visit, because everyone's _missed_ me so much…" His voice faded, while Saisei nosed worriedly at his collarbone. "And what good does it do to want that, when make-believe is all I'll ever have?"

Zell rubbed at the bridge of his nose, while his toes sought warmth against the creases of the cushion. "Look — I'd like those things too, but it doesn't stop me from striving for my smaller goals. Head of produce ain't much, but it's better than the bag boy I was before; the pay increase covered the new apartment, and in time, who knows? I might get promoted to regional, and there might be a house, and neighbors, and Festivals." The smaller blonde opened his eyes, and stared at his friend. "So here's an easier question: What do you want, right now, that's within reach?"

Almost, almost the ice-eyed man gave in; his arm — that wanted to reach out, to touch, to claim — tightened about Saisei instead. Within reach; there was only one thing he wanted that was within reach, but he knew he dared not speak of it out loud. Because the younger blonde would not say no. Zell would smile sadly, and nod his acquiescence, and in the morning he would leave. Leave because he had other obligations, and other promises to keep. And while Seifer knew he could live with the hope of 'someday,' he doubted he could survive a lifetime of _knowing_ what he could never have again.

It was almost as though Zell could read his mind, though it was far more likely that the tattooed man was reading his expression. His gaze softened; his hands fell loosely to his sides. "This is stupid," he whispered, resting his cheek against the threadbare back of the sofa. "Seifer, all ya hafta do is ask."

"I know." Admittance was bitter on his tongue. Saisei squirmed, wanting to be sat down, and he obliged. "But it wouldn't be enough." He rubbed damp palms against his thighs, while struggling to keep his rising emotions under control. He stared at the younger man, arctic eyes hard and lips pressed so firmly together that they lost all color. "…How long were you planning on staying tonight?"

"Ah…" Zell covered his face with fine-boned hands, thin fingers tangling with over-grown strands of wheaten hair. "Not long. We're going out this evening, to the promenade. The eclipse is tonight…"

"She'll be by soon then, to pick you up?"

"Seifer…" he nearly moaned the name, his shoulders trembling and his hands pressing harder against his forehead. "What would you have me do? Just tell me. What do you want?" His hands slipped, revealing moist eyes.

"I want…" The larger man sighed, while bending down to pick up his abandoned plate, "I want so many things — I'm selfish. Go Zell. Go walk with your wife, and gaze up at the stars with her, and know, _know_ that there're two people in this world who love you, and that one of them will be waiting — just in case anything happens."

"She doesn't love me, Seif." Zell rubbed at his face, wiping away dampness. "We're nothing but friends. She didn't want to be alone — and neither did I. She understands."

"It's not enough." Kneeling, the scarred blonde picked up the other plate, and carried them both into the kitchen, Saisei crossing his path at awkward intervals. "She may understand, but she's not prepared to let you go. But she'll let you come over, and she leaves me be, and that — that I can be happy with."

"How did we come to this?" The younger man joined his friend in the kitchen, and began filling the sink with scalding water and lemon-scented antibacterial soap. "All three of us, so afraid to take a misstep that we refuse to take any step at all." He rubbed fiercely at a plate, though the surface was already clean. "We can't keep this up forever…"

"We can try." Seifer rescued the dish that had been in dire peril of having its lacy ivy pattern scrubbed completely off. He rinsed it underneath the flowing tap, and began drying it with the purple and pink checked hand towel he'd found in a clearance bin, marked down for its sheer tackiness. "Is it really so bad, what we have?"

Zell didn't answer, busily scowling down into the foamy dishwater. He washed the other plate, and the various pieces of silverware accumulated over the day, and the pastel-plastic cereal bowl left over from the morning. "I think, if we showed up for the Festival, they might let us in." He passed over the bowl, and began wiping off the counter. Abruptly he stopped, leaving the wet rag to drip sporadically on the linoleum, little misshapen circles spattering against the grimy surface.

"What is it?"

"I forgot about the honeydew. I was gonna cut it up…"

"Just throw plastic wrap around it; it'll keep." Seifer took the rag from the other man and deftly tossed it back into the sink. "It's not like it's the end of the world."

"I suppose." He searched through drawers until he found what he was looking for. Saran Wrap, not the cheaper store brand; the small price difference counted for little when a person wasted half a roll due to it sticking together. "It'd be nice though, wouldn't it? If preventing such little things _could_ make a difference?"

"Yeah." The scarred blonde finished putting away the dishes, and turned around, his ice-hued eyes hiding beneath bronze lashes. "Don't you know, that was Ultimecia's problem all along? Mushy melons."

The smaller man began laughing, almost dropping the honeydew as he attempted to place it in the fridge. "'Kurse you SeeDs! Bekause of you, my kasabas have molded. My kantaloupes have mildewed! I will destroy all time; and maybe, if I'm lukky, halt fungal growth!' It almost makes me feel sympathetic towards her."

"For all the havoc she managed to wreck, Ultimecia was still an amateur at villainy. I think she had no more clue as to her purpose than we did."

"Hmm. You know, you made an excellent villain." Finished taking care of the honeydew, Zell moved on to the floor — the water splotches marking the dust were bothering him. On hands and knees he began swiping at the linoleum with a sponge he had scavenged from underneath the sink. "Clear motivations; you wanted a position that utilized your talents, you wanted recognition, and you wanted t' whup Squall's ass." He applied pressure against a stubborn black streak. "You've been wearing your boots in here again, haven't cha?"

"Maybe." Seifer shrugged, and sat down on the carpeting, watching the other man work. "But what makes you think I didn't have some other motivation for taking over the Galbadian military and invading — just about every place imaginable?"

"I **know** you had other reasons." Floor cleansed, he rinsed out the sponge and drained the sink. "We all have other reasons for doing the things we do. Ain't nothing straight-cut enough t' fit into a single-line explanation in some kid's history book. 'This is Sir Almasy of the Cross Sword; it is believed he raised Lunatic Pandora for the sole purpose of pasting popular slogans on it to boost the Galbadian military's moral — enlistment being at an all-time low due to various economic and sorceress factors which shall be discussed in detail in the following chapter.' And that's all the kiddies will know about you for the next thirty years or more."

"How depressing." He patted Saisei while he stood, taking time to stretch out the muscles in his back in an upwards rolling motion. "The way you rattled that off, I'd almost think you'd read it somewhere."

"Hnn." Zell rubbed his hands along his charcoal slacks; a vain attempt at removing the white fur that clung to them. "Khoral got next year's approved texts in last week." He began grinning, a show of pointed canines. "With any luck, Squall will never see one. They misspelled his name."

"How badly?"

"Our dearly beloved ex-Commander has gone down in history as 'Squat Lionpart.' The publisher has promised to correct the mistake in the next edition, which is due out sometime next decade."

The smirk came naturally to Seifer, though the snicker that followed was a bit rusty. "All the more reason to want to crash the Festival." He would have said more, but was forestalled by a timid knock on the front door. Saisei barked in return; sharp yaps that displayed her blunt, miniature teeth. "Huh. Looks like your date's here. The door's unlocked!" he called out, his voice more strident than usual, echoes of his earlier laughter still breaking through.

"Of course it's unlocked; it's always unlocked." A woman walked in, followed by a small boy, both of them with dark hair, and both dressed in solemn colors. She closed the door once they were inside, taking time to toss her long hair back behind her shoulders. "I swear, I'd lecture you, if the thought of someone trying to steal from _you_ wasn't so incredibly hilarious." She bent down to give Saisei proper greeting, but the tiny dog was more interested in the child behind the pale woman.

Zell's smile had dimmed, though it still contained hints of fondness. "Khoral, you're early…" He moved forward, clasping his wife in a gentle hug, while staring down at the young boy. "Hey Dryn; whatcha doin' here? I thought you were gonna spend the night at your Uncle Irvie's?"

"Irvine called, and regretfully cancelled fifteen minutes ago." Khoral rubbed her hands together, her brown eyes shadowed with weariness. "Seifer, I was hoping…if it wouldn't be too much trouble…"

"Sure, I can watch Dryn, no problem. We'll have fun, won't we?" he asked the young boy, winking rather conspicuously.

The umber-haired child smiled happily and picked up Saisei, who settled herself in his arms with an air of authority. "Sure Uncle Seif; can we play cards?"

"I thought you'd sold off all your Triads," the tattooed man said thoughtfully, tilting his head to one side.

"Yeah, I did." The scarred blonde grinned sheepishly, spreading his hands wide. "I've been teaching him rummy. And he's been winning every hand to boot. I was thinking of moving on to cribbage."

"My son, the card shark." Zell shook his head, bemused. "Are you sure it's okay?" he asked the other man, while tugging fretfully at his shirt's cuffs. "We'd planned on picking him up tomorrow…"

"He's spent the night before, he can spend the night again. Only…there's nothing around here to eat besides honeydew…" He frowned, glancing towards the fridge. "I'd planned on going shopping tomorrow."

"That's okay." Khoral flourished a bag she'd been hiding behind her. "I brought you guys take-out. I hope shuminese is okay?"

"That's — fine." Seifer took the flimsy bag from her and opened it, examining the contents. "Thanks. It'll be a treat." His smile was some-what strained; he hoped she wouldn't notice how insincere it was. "What do ya say, Dryn; ready to eat?"

The young boy nodded his head enthusiastically. "Mom even got dessert. You know, those ginger cookies with the frosting and happy faces on them?"

"Only after you eat your vegetables." The dark-haired woman clutched her husband's hand as if grasping for a lifeline. "You'll make sure, won't you Seifer?"

"Of course." He planned on no such thing, but had no hesitation over telling white lies. Personally, he saw no reason for holding dessert back until last; it was his experience that children would eat what they wanted to, regardless of the order it was presented to them in.

"Of course." Zell caught the older man's eyes, and sniggered silently. "I guess we should be going. See you tomorrow morning, then?"

"Make it more towards noon." The ice-eyed man ushered his visitors to the door, and held it open for them. "It's my day off; if I'm up before 11:00 I'll not be held accountable for my actions."

"We'll do our best not to wake you." Khoral searched her purse for her car keys, eventually releasing her death-grip on her husband.

"'Night, then…" The smaller blonde sighed, while stuffing his hands into his pockets for safekeeping.

"'Night. You two have fun." He watched as the couple walked down the hall, like two strangers that — by sheer coincidence — happened to be heading in the same direction. Silently closing the door, he rested his forehead against its cool paneling, trying to regain the calm peacefulness of before.

"…Uncle Seif? Are we gonna eat?"

He turned around and looked down at Dryn; looked down into eyes that were solely his fathers, gloriously bright and terribly intense. "Yeah, we're gonna eat. Why don't you get down the paper plates, while I start opening the boxes, okay?"

"Okay!" The small boy scurried into the kitchen, heading unerringly to the cupboard that stored the unopened package of Chinet. "How many… Hey!" He drew back, his right fist clenched around something. He stared, then gave a burbling sort of laugh. "I think Dad left this here for you." He skipped over to Seifer, and handed him a folded piece of paper.

"What is it, a note?" The scarred blonde held it out, wishing he had his reading glasses.

"Mmm-hmm." Dryn scratched at his head, his expression suddenly serious. "I think Dad likes you; he doesn't leave Mom notes anymore."

"I think that you don't need to worry about what your parents do or do not do." He paused, then crossed his eyes and stuck out his tongue at his small housemate. "And I have no idea _what_ I just said, so be good and go get the plates while I wander around like the senile old fool I am."

"Sure thing!"

Chuckling ruefully, Seifer once again tried reading the note. 'Seif, a little something to help out until the end of the month. Chinet. Man, you've gotta do something about your high-class tastes.' He unfolded the messily torn piece of paper, exposing three worn bills; a 100 gil note, and two 50s — more than enough to cover the shortage on his rent.

"Damn." He'd use the money; of course he would. Returning it to Zell, after the younger man had worked so hard sneaking it to him, was unthinkable. But it did nothing for the teary, choking feeling welling up inside. "Dryn, have I told you your father's an idiot?"

"Yep, lots of times." The blue-eyed boy handed his uncle a plate — a heavy, molded Chinet plate — and grinned impishly. "He says the same thing about you. I'm gonna get forks. You're gonna open boxes, right?"

"Right." And Seifer opened boxes, and scooped out spiced rice, and stir-fried vegetables, and ginger-molasses, insanely smiling cookies. He wondered briefly where Saisei had gotten herself to, but that was quickly pushed aside by small talk and the giggling at of childish jokes that Dryn told with remarkable aplomb.

**Ending Written Specifically for Becca**

"Now how did she get out?"

Khoral looked down to see Saisei trailing merrily after them. "Why you little scamp! I know Seifer keeps better track of you than this…" She plucked the fluffy white furball from the ground and tucked her underneath one arm. "Why don't you go on ahead," she told Zell, handing him the car keys. "I'll take her back up. I can't believe Seif hasn't noticed her missing yet."

The elevators were moving particularly slowly — it was a wonder the tiny dog had managed to navigate them at all. More than likely, some friendly tenant had recognized the pooch, and had held the doors for her, assuming, for whatever reason, that she knew where she was going. Khoral would've liked to of had a word with them, whoever they were; Saisei may have been an exceptionally smart dog, but everyone _knew_ Seifer never let her out of his sight.

"What were you thinking, little one?" she questioned the dog — rhetorically, one would hope. "Planning on going to the promenade with us, were you?" She scratched behind Saisei's ears, while impatiently waiting for the elevator to reach its destination. "I don't think you'd've had much fun…" She blinked coffee-colored eyes, tired beyond belief.

The doors chimed, and she stepped out, heels snagging on the worn-out carpeting. Within moments she had reached the appropriate apartment; her demanding knocks echoed down the empty hallway.

"It's open!" her son's voice chirped, and Saisei wriggled urgently, curious to see what had happened in her absence.

"Of course it's open…" She'd had enough. She was sick of pretending — tired of it all. Opening the door, she sat the small dog down, then fixed her gaze upon the one man she wished she could hate — who happened to be nibbling on a cookie. "I'm just bringing Saisei back; the little vixen got out some how."

"Saisei!" Seifer's scolding was tinged with relief. "You know you're not supposed to sneak out! Someone could snatch you right up!" The bundle of nerves and fur jumped into his lap and proceeded to smother him with kisses. "Thank you, Khoral! I don't know what I'd do, if I lost her…"

"Sure." The dark-haired woman rubbed the side of her face, smearing her eyeliner in the process. "Whatever." She raised dulled, glassy eyes, meeting his shocked stare. "Just… Seifer Almasy, you're going to need to keep a better eye on Zell than you do your dog. You don't want to lose him. Trust me; it will tear you apart, losing him…" A tear escaped, then another, tracking inky lines down her cheeks. "I need to go."

She spun around and darted from the room, ignoring the confused cries behind her. Luckily, an elevator stood open; she jumped inside and jabbed viscously at the buttons, forcing the doors closed. That accomplished, she leaned back against the railing and tried drying her face with a crumpled tissue pulled from her purse.

Tonight, she'd tell her husband. As they walked the promenade, and gazed at the stars, and stood with the other couples underneath the eclipsed moon, she'd tell him. Tell him that she understood. Tell him that it wasn't enough. Tell him — what she should have told him years ago.

"Be happy."

**End**

_**Drivel:** I guess I should start out by telling you all what Becca's request was… Seifer likes Zell, but refuses to admit it. He gets jealous when he sees other people going out with Zell. And, if possible, bash the Library-girl-with-a-pigtail. (And didn't she have cruel parents, t' name her that?) If you look really hard, and squint your eyes, and down a pint or two, you can sorta see some of that in the ficcie… right? _

_Well, maybe not. Think of it, maybe I just wanted t' write big macho Seifer living with a little yap dog. We all know how fond he is of canines. Bet he has a closet full of _Big Dogs_ shirts. I don't particularly like the product placement I did — but at the moment I can't think of any way around it. Name brands have recognition. I say '_Coke_', you think of a big company going back who knows how long, and you know I'm talking about a cola-flavored carbonated beverage. I say '_Toksa_', and you'd just look at me funny. I say cola-flavored carbonated beverage, and you'd wonder why I just didn't say '_Coke_' to begin with. _

_So, I guess I need another disclaimer. Esse doesn't own _Chinet, Corelle, Saran Wrap_, or _BigDog_. She does own _Coke_…or at least a minuscule portion of it. That has t' count for more than a few cents in dividends, shouldn't it? Esse adores _Coke_. She adores her _Coca-Cola_ Zell even more. _

_Let me know what you think of the story. The happy ending is there for Becca only; for everyone else, the ficcie ends with nobody getting what they want. So — ignore the last few paragraphs, eh? Hated the entire thing, and want t' tell me I'm a sell-out to my principles for writing a happy ending? The Ogre eagerly awaits your mail. Want t' tell me it was a good try, and better luck next time? That can go to me. T' everyone else, I hope you enjoyed. And Becca? I'm really sorry. I'll pass on the 'better luck next time's to you as I get them._


	3. Saisei's Walk

_**Disclaimer:** Lalala, I can't hear them; lalala, they can't hear me! So Esse shall write pointless fanfiction using _Square Enix_'s characters without the slightest monetary compensation, and _Square Enix_ shall not sue — which would result in great monetary loss. On their part; Esse, for her part, just spent her last $10 paying for an ultrasound._

_**Notes:** Sequel to _Saisei_. Not that _Saisei_ needed a follow up; I just got this idea, see? And I had t' write it down, see? And there might even be a third story, see? Oh, wait, no — forget you read that last sentence, please pretty?_

_**Warnings:** Very slight language. A derogatory comment. A kiddie OC, which I know we all love to hate. Deep thoughts that actually tread water at the shallow end of the pool. And a Seifer and Zell beaten down by the world, but far from giving up._

_**For:** Becca, f'r her birthday, which was way _way_ back — but really, I wrote this March 11th. :shrugs: There was just something I didn't like about it; tried, but couldn't find the problem. Oh well._

**Saisei's Walk**

The park was growing crowded. The denizens of the vicinage had taken the forecaster's prognostication to heart, and had turned out in force to enjoy the spring day; picnic baskets held the day's repast, and blankets covered the grass like so many overgrown poppies, petals opened to catch the warming rays of late morning sunlight. Warm, and drowsy, families lazed in the glow filtered through the blossoms of hardy fruit trees, blooming with no regard to the late frost that might befall them. Families, talking softly and laughing riotously, enjoying the holiday, with no regard for the work weeks to come.

The boy in front of him, dark-haired and crystal-eyed, in clothes worn and painstakingly mended, painfully clean, standing off the path underneath the sheltering boughs of an ancient apple tree, giggled and held up his hands to the fall of petals torn loose by the freshening breeze. The dog scampering about his feet and held to his side by means of a purple leash and halter, yipped, and struggled to pull her way free; free to join the boy, and his game of catching sunbeams upon his outstretched tongue. The man standing forlornly at his side, coat tied around his waist and wheaten hair straggling across his forehead, kept his gaze upon them all, watchful and vigilant, and out of place in the peaceful setting.

"I still can't believe she left."

But the park wasn't as peaceful as it seemed. Graffiti besmirched once pristine walls, and vandals had hacked apart the wooden benches, leaving nothing but splinters and dangerously exposed screws in their delirium of destruction. The families upon their blankets huddled inwards; parents with faces worn old with worry and work, children in clothes neither mended nor clean, playing quiet games with none of the boisterousness he remembered from his own ill-spent childhood. By the bathrooms, a dealer passed out small bags in exchange for loose gil; in the bathrooms, a woman moaned, plying her own trade, taking advantage of the holiday crowd.

The boy in front of him, dearly loved — but not his. The man beside him, beloved and cherished and as vital to his survival as his meager breakfasts or the blossom-scented air — but not his. The dog at his feet, loose at last and running to the boy as fast as her short legs could carry her — his for the moment, but it wouldn't last. Nothing in his life ever lasted.

One day, Saisei had followed him home. Some day, she'd follow someone else. It was inevitable. She made him happy, and it was his experience that happiness was a fleeting thing, never his for the grasping.

He'd grasp, and the small happiness would die. So he held back — and enjoyed what he had, while he had it.

"I don't understand; she just left. I know things weren't perfect, but she didn't even bother trying to talk things out. How'm I supposed to take care of Dryn? I can't make rent, not on my salary alone…"

But he could pretend, for a minute, there on the park path shaded by the flower-bedecked branches of trees well past their prime. Pretend that the dark-haired boy was his son; pretend that the golden-haired man was his lover; pretend that his dog was a paragon among canines, and hadn't just bitten a hole through the boy's faded denim jeans. Pretend they were his, and he was theirs, and that they were someplace else other than the dirty, littered park tucked away deep inside the slums of the city.

"Zell…" He frowned, and tucked his hands into his pockets, lest one reach out and twine around the other man's fingers. "You said it yourself: You didn't love her. She didn't love you. Maybe she finally decided she deserved more."

"Sure, our marriage was a sham, but don't tell me she didn't love her son, Seif. I can understand her leaving me; I'd leave me, if I could — but leave without Dryn? He's the only good thing—" he grabbed the sleeves of his coat, and tugged them tighter about his waist. "How the hell am I supposed to raise him by myself? I'm a glorified stock boy; I can't begin to provide the things he needs."

"You love him." His hands were out of his pockets, contrary creatures with a will of their own, and pulling the other man's coat loose. "He loves you. And Khoral wanted you to be happy." He draped the coat over his arm, where his already rested, a heavy bundle on such a balmy spring morning. The forecaster may have called for sunshine, but the two men had learned to plan for rain. "Don't do this to yourself; she knew Dryn would be better off with you. She doesn't have the time to spend with him—"

"—And I do?" Zell's arm slashed through the air, striking nothing but dust motes.

"No." Seifer looked briefly away, then back, reaching out and catching the other man's hands, letting them struggle briefly in his unyielding grip before firming his hold. He didn't want to say the words that lay so heavily on his tongue; didn't want to give fuel to the want that squirmed needfully in his gut. But Zell was flushing, harsh contrast to the chilled hands held within his own, and it was either speak now, or return once more to his small, lonely apartment and face an unending succession of drab, lonely days. "But, maybe, together…"

He released his hold, and hunched his shoulders protectively, gaze fixed upon the gum-splotched asphalt path. There was no together, he reminded himself. Not even in the same room was there ever a together, not for him; a lifetime spent holding himself apart couldn't be overcome, not by actions, and most certainly not by weak, needy words. But it was to him Khoral had come, not to her husband, and said with tears leaving dark tracks down her cheeks, 'You don't want to lose him. Trust me…'

Had she known what she'd asked of him? After all the years of standing alone, of watching Zell leave each evening to be with his family, and never asking him to stay. Had Khoral been that bitter? —Or that forgiving? For while Zell had never felt more than deep friendship, Khoral, against all expectations, had fallen in love. Loved Zell more than her own happiness. And had set him free.

"Together?" Thin fingers traced the reddened marks encircling his wrists, and Zell leaned forward, peering up with searingly blue eyes. "What's this, together?"

"I mean, together, okay?" The younger man's position was ludicrous, and Seifer couldn't stop a small smile from lifting the corners of his mouth. "I know my apartment's not much, but the rent's dirt cheap. Your store's within walking distance; you'd save on bus fare, since Khoral took the car; I know you've been bitchin' about the added expense. And — it's not like you're not there all the time, anyways," he added a bit more quietly.

"I don't know," Zell said, glancing aside to make sure his son was still nearby, then returning his attention upwards. "You like your privacy, and Dryn can be a handful. I'd hate to be such an imposition."

The words hurt, far more than sticks and stones; he was in a position to judge, having once been lynched by a vengeful mob. He'd thought nothing could be worse than the accusations hurled by his attackers. But none of them had known where to properly strike, or where his weaknesses lay. None of them had had the audacity to mumble, 'You like your privacy.'

So he lashed back, not with the arrogance that had once bolstered him in youth, but with the humble honesty that had sustained his life since then. Brushing aside a soft lock of hair, he whispered into a pinkening ear, "You said, all I hafta do, is ask."

"Is… I thought…" Zell took a step back, then another, rubbing away the memory of warm breath from the side of his face. "This _isn't_ what you were going to ask! The other, _that_ I could give you. Do you have any idea what you're setting yourself up for? You still have a future, Seif, and you're inviting me in to destroy it."

"What future?" He thought he should feel angry; his voice was laced with outrage, but inside nothing echoed but hysterical laughter. "How many years has it been now, Zell, since we met back up? And every day, of every year, I live for those moments spent with you. What future, when it was Khoral you went home to? And me, waiting for you to once more appear, living in the present, 'cause if I even once began considering the _future_ I'd've—" He bit off the sentence before he could admit to too much. "I told you then, and I'm tellin' ya now — and you'd better damn well listen to me this time! — what you were willing to give wouldn't've been enough. Not anywhere near enough."

Zell blushed a furious red, and opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out, caught behind the tightness in his throat. Instead, he spun around, and delivered a resounding kick to the carved trunk of a twisted pear tree. "And me living with you," he finally forced out, still facing away, "that would be enough?"

"No. It would be a start." And now he felt anger stirring, anger as only the younger man had ever been able to provoke; the same anger that had forced him from the alleyway, so very long ago, to follow Zell home and prove that he was more than the ruined remnants of the sorceress' pawn. "You told me it was okay to want things; to be selfish. So I'm being selfish. I want you, and I want Dryn; I want my _family_ together, and if you turn me down — I lose everything."

He needed to move, to get away before he grabbed the younger man and shook him; kissed him; pressed his face against the other's tattooed cheek and wept. But Saisei was rushing back to him, a piece of white fluff caught in the wind, yipping shrilly and pawing his pants, wanting to be picked up.

"I'll get her, Seif," Zell said, turning around and wiping hastily at his eyes, picking up the small dog before Seifer could stoop to get her himself. "She'll get hair all over the coats, otherwise." He settled her into the crook of his arm, and she panted happily, leash tangled about her body in a purple snarl. "Dryn," he called out, his voice raised to be heard over the murmuring of the families filling the park. "You about ready to go?"

"Yeah." The young boy rushed up, much as the dog had, panting and shaking pale pink blossoms from his umber hair. "It's starting to get hot, and the other kids…" He shrugged, and grabbed hold of his father's free hand, palm sticky with sweat and tree sap. "They're all boring. Uncle Seif? Can we get ice cream before we go home?" He pouted, and turned his oft-practiced pleading expression upon the tall man walking on his other side. "Please?"

"I'm not sure—"

"Dryn," Zell knelt down, keeping a firm grip on Saisei to prevent her from wriggling free, "how would you feel, if we went to live with Seifer?"

"Huh?" The boy blinked, while Seifer held himself rigidly still, not daring to break the tableau; barely dared to breathe, while his pulse thundered in his chest, making him light-headed. "You mean," Dryn asked, biting nervously on his lower lip, "like, full-time? Sorta the way we did with Mom?"

"No," Zell shook his head, then sighed in resignation. "Well, yes. Sorta. But only if you want; it's okay to say no, I'll understand."

"Why would I say no? Mom said last weekend," Dryn tugged at his father's hand, grinning and urging him up, "she didn't know what was takin' you so long. **I** don't know why we stayed at the apartment; it's too quiet there. It's never quiet at Uncle Seif's. Did you know his neighbor can play three musical instruments?"

"At once?" Seifer scoffed, a brilliant smile gracing his face and brightening his eyes into something almost painful to look upon. "Did you know your dad can play seven?"

"Really?" The boy scratched Saisei underneath her ears, earning him a lick on the nose as reward. "Cool. So Dad," he said earnestly, his fingers full of white dog hair and his expression once again pleading, "were we getting ice cream, or what?"

Zell nodded absently, and released the small dog to his son's skillful attentions. "Your mom really said that?"

"I told you, Khoral wants you to be happy." And if it made him happy as well, Seifer wasn't going to complain. If it gave him his family, where he could see them every day, join in on their chatter — just wake up in the middle of the night, and listen to them breathe, and reassure himself that he wasn't completely abandoned — he'd gratefully accept her sacrifice, and only feel the slightest bit guilty that his good fortune came from her greatest loss. "Are you, then?" he asked, bending down to untangle Saisei's leash. "Moving in, that is?"

"Yeah. I think," he watched as Seifer carefully straightened out the leash, looping it around his wrist once he'd finished, "I didn't stand much of a chance, not with all of you in cahoots." He gave both his son and Seifer a warning glower, earning mock shivers in return. "I'm not sure if this sort of behavior merits ice cream…"

Dryn let go of his father, and latched on to Seifer's arm, smearing the dark gray shirt with white dog hairs and sap. "He's being cranky, Uncle Seif—"

"I'm not being cranky!" Zell protested, then ducked his head, pushing limp bangs away from his face. "Well, not much. Dryn, you've gotta understand, we need to be real careful about money from now on. And that means cutting back on ice cream, and movies; we need to be responsible—"

"Tomorrow," Seifer cut him off, smirking tenderly at the younger man and brushing a feathery kiss across his tattooed temple, "we'll be responsible. Today, we get ice cream." He kissed away the unformed protest from the corner of Zell's mouth; trailed light kisses across Zell's forehead till lines of tension smoothed away. It would mean a few hours overtime, stuck at his workbench drowning in the miasma of plastics and paint thinners, but he didn't mind.

Two joyful, fangy smiles held him enthralled. For them, he'd do anything. For the quick, burning kiss Zell placed in the hollow between his collarbone and throat, he'd do anything at all.

From the tattered blanket they were passing, a man's outraged voice yelled, "There's children here, you fags!"

Seifer turned, and glared at the man with arctic eyes; tall, and terrible in his wrath, for all that it was silent. He'd lost muscle since his training at Garden, from a succession of menial jobs requiring limited physical labor, but it made little difference; the muscles used wielding a gunblade weren't the same ones required for tearing apart a slovenly, porcine man more used to lifting a beer can to his lips than raising his fists in battle. But before he could take the first step forward, the first step back into old ways and old habits, the small hand within his own twisted.

"Yeah, well there's a child here, you asshole!"

"Dryn!" Mortified, Zell reached out to his son, but Seifer laughed, and swung the small boy up, placing him upon his shoulders.

Dryn might not have been his flesh and blood, but he _was_ his son, in manner and in deed. And Zell might not have been his lover — but they were moving in that direction, as gradually as they'd first come together in friendship. And Saisei might not have been his dog, but he was definitely _her_ man, as she yapped haughtily, clearing the way before them, a princess at her royal best. And they might not have been a family in the traditional sense…

But in all the ways that truly mattered, they were.


	4. Dreams of Saisei

_**Disclaimer:** _Square Enix_ owns the characters of _Final Fantasy VIII_. Actually, _Enix_ was the stronger partner in the merger, yet allowed _Square_ to take top billing due to their greater name recognition — especially in foreign markets. So, _Enix_ gained control of characters originally belonging to _Square_, which tickles Esse pink, giving her hope of one day controlling the combined might of _Esse Sqix_. Until that glorious time, Esse owns not the characters, but neither does _Square_, bwahaha!_

_**Notes:** Third in the series. Itty-bitty stirrings of plot. Additional fics planned, but not promised. With six you get egg roll._

_**Warnings:** None that I can think of besides language, actually. How bizarre._

**Dreams of Saisei**

After so many years, he could still recall with perfect clarity the upward twist that pulled at her painted lips while she whispered endearments to him.

_My Knight.  
__My own.  
__My love._

Her lips the color of blood, though it was him her words cut into, and him too stupid, too enthralled to notice the life she bled away until his dreams turned colorless, and his heart spasmed as it tried to pump the ice that filled his veins. He'd been cold, with her hand — so smooth, so hard, so unlike anything that could have been human — upon his cheek, tracing the path of a single tear.

_My dearest son._

Her hair like a dove's wings framing her sharp-featured face, beautiful shades of ever-changing gray; he'd thought the locks to be feather-soft, before he'd dared lift a hand in return. The lightest of touches, and pain burning at his fingertips as a silver strand sliced through skin and down to bone. Her smile had grown, and the whiteness of pointed teeth broke the painted line.

_Such a silly boy._

Her hair might have been gray — a lock now stained rusty, brushing against a pale cheek, rouging it into a false image of health — but her wings had been purest black. Carrion bird, riding triumphantly the winds of her war, cawing at the desolation shrouded beneath her shadow. Black pinions knife-edged; she'd brushed against him once, and the scars still ached. She'd healed him — a pain all its own — but the scars remained icy lines across his arm, constant reminder that he was hers, and nothing else. Would never be anything else, not ever again.

_Child, why do you mourn?_

The rustle of her crimson dress as she dropped her arm, and grasped his injured hand; the glow of her topaz eyes — viper eyes, but so wise, so infinitely old — as she raised his bleeding fingertips to her painted lips, and kissed them. Four kisses, each one an agony, each one a blessing. Each one healing the damage with a coldness that leached away the small warmth remaining to him. His heart struggled, stilled, and his breath no longer frosted in the frigid night air.

_My Knight, did you think to ever eskape me?_

"The hell, Almasy?"

He flinched, the fine bristle brush held carefully between his knuckles trailing a line of wet scarlet across the inky expanse of wings. He'd seen her in such disarray before, alighting on a crumbling merlon, laughing with piercing amusement as her feathers spattered congealing gore along the basalt parapet. Another flinch, and the brush dropped to the floor while he blinked, and pulled his thoughts back to the present, and the man leaning angrily over him.

"The fuck is this?" Outraged voice coming from deep within a barrel chest, and a heavy fist pounded against the workbench, causing the furthest figurine to jump as if startled. "You're supposed to be painting angels, Almasy. _**Angels**_. Not… Not…" Another blow, and the figurine shattered when it hit the ground. "I don't even know what the hell these are."

He knew. Knew her features, her coloring, her smirk while brushing back his hair and promising horrors. She was there in front of him, a miniature ceramic duplicate, glowering from yellow eyes while her dark wings hooded threateningly over her head. She was there in a rigidly straight, ominous line, a dozen or more, the work of a morning he couldn't recall. Always there; a promise she was keeping though she'd been long defeated there in a future he could barely recall except in nightmares.

He raised his fingers to his mouth, and felt the hardness of old scars against his lips. He was supposed to be painting angels, yet here was his workspace filled with sorceresses black and red and nearly as terrifying as she'd been in life; the figurines were ruined. Pale pastels could never cover up the marks streaking down the perfect face, the dress as livid as a fresh bruise, the leering, painted smile.

"It's Ultimecia."

"Well, fuckin' whoop for her." His boss placed a booted foot against ceramic shards, grinding them to dust against the concrete floor. "That's just what the kiddies want, some psycho bitch guarding their sleep. Get the hell outta here, Almasy."

It didn't quite register, against the shock of the painted row of dark angels. He stared up over his reading glasses dazedly, while paint-wet fingers stained his mouth a brilliant red. "I — what?"

"You're fired, that's what." The man shook his head, jowls trembling at the movement. "You're a liability; last thing I need is you wandering about daydreaming. Last guy did that lost a thumb. Not again. Go _home_, Almasy. Get your head screwed on straight." He picked up a figurine, tossing it into the air and catching it before it could shatter upon the table. "Hyne knows what I'm gonna do with these things; something's gotta be salvageable…" Muttering to himself, he turned and walked away, kicking the chair of an employee unwisely listening in. "Back ta work, morons! We've got a deadline."

Seifer hunched in his chair, wiping fingers clean against a solvent-imbued towel, then removing his glasses to their case. Another job lost; a job that he desperately needed, now that he had responsibilities. More than himself, and more than Saisei. He had a family, and they depended on him — more so than he'd dared depend upon himself. And what was he going to do, when rent came due?

He grabbed up his bag, and while he thought it would have been nice to arrive at work with a suitcase, or even a satchel, instead he came with a backpack. A bit worn, and one of the zippers tended to stick, and the initials SA written large in magic marker because Dryn had insisted they needed a way to tell their backpacks apart. It would have been a good idea, if only Zell would bother to look at the initials while packing their paper sack lunches, but Seifer was growing used to peanut butter sandwiches, and Dryn never complained about getting his bologna. They both knew how rushed Zell was in the mornings, and it didn't seem important enough to mention.

Zell would want to know why he'd been fired. Fifth job in two years, and it had to be some kind of record for him, because he wasn't actually trying to get fired. It was only fragments of memory distracting him at inopportune moments. Only painted lips pressing down on him, and pain in places that should have long since gone numb.

Ultimecia gloated up at him with her flat yellow eyes and bloody black wing. He held up the figurine consideringly, then placed it inside his bag. Easiest explanation he could think of, and Zell would either laugh, or throw her across the room.

Coworkers took care not to watch him while he left, busy with their own projects, their own angels lining their workspaces offering bland benedictions. The secretary, her arthritic fingers struggling to type, did not look up as he passed; he'd never learned her name, and now he wished he had, so he'd have something to take away with him that didn't hurt.

Outside the sun was bright, though the sky was dirtied by the haze of smog, and everything seemed a bit more brown than usual. It wasn't a long walk back to his apartment, and usually he enjoyed the stroll, watching people scurry by with their own small worries. He'd faced worries both significant and not — and he much preferred the insignificant ones. And losing his job… ultimately, it was insignificant. Sure, it might mean the end of his world, but the _world_ would continue on.

In his youth, that had been in doubt. A large worry that was, thankfully, no longer his.

A pause as he waited for the light to change. Traffic rushed past leaving behind the stinging smell of exhaust, and he recalled that he'd enjoyed driving once upon a time, before reality set in and informed him he could make payments on a car, or payments on an apartment, but not both at once. After spending time on the streets — never sure how long, and always hesitant to ask; if he didn't know, then it _hadn't_ actually happened — he thought the small cluster of rooms a fair trade-off. Trying to sleep in a car was only marginally better than trying to sleep in a sheltered alley.

Walk, the sign bid him in glowing green, and he stepped off the curb only to jerk himself back as a truck made a right hand turn, its fender brushing against the denim of his pants. "Outta the way, fucker!" the driver shouted out a rolled down window, his fingers twisted into a gesture Seifer assumed to be vulgar. Customs changed, and he'd long since stopped bothering to keep up; back in Garden, the fingers the man held up had signified hotdogs were available in the cafeteria. He doubted that was the message the crude driver was trying to convey.

It would be easy, terribly easy, to tweak that portion of his mind where other things had once resided, and set the speeding truck on fire. He wanted to — but little good he'd do Zell from a prison cell. And that is where he'd end up, should anything untoward occur in his presence. Justice had a long memory, and how he'd slipped through its grasping fingers the first time was a mystery he doubted he'd ever solve.

Squall might have had something to do with it. Then again, he might be free in spite of all Squall could bring to bear. He'd asked Irvine once, while they'd split a twelve-pack out on his tiny balcony and watched the parade below. Irvine had answered — but the next day's sobriety had soon enough wiped the other man's guarded words away.

The truck safely gone, he crossed the intersection, waving to a street vender as he passed. Today the young lady was selling watches. Yesterday it had been jewelry. He glanced down at her tray, admiring the collection of gold and silver and cheap cracked plastic. "Wouldn't happen to need an assistant, would you?"

She smiled behind tangled strands of curly dark hair, and patted the sleeve of his shirt. "You're much too tall," she said, all dimples and wickedly gleaming eyes, while handing him back his leather-banded wristwatch. "How would you ever fit through the windows?"

He couldn't help but smile in return, strapping back on his watch and continuing up the street. His apartment building wasn't in the best of neighborhoods, but there was a sense of community that was lacking in most of the upscale sections of the city. The denizens could tell who belonged; they claimed him as one of their own. And it wasn't that he enjoyed fitting in, but there was a sense of security; thieves never bothered him, for fear of leading law enforcement to their own front doors. There were better pickings elsewhere. Anywhere else than this particular slum, where the poorest of all dwelt.

The entrance to his building might have been elegant, once. Perhaps not even so long ago. But now the keypad that had replaced the doorman was broken, and the residents relied on the intercom, and the elderly man on the fifth floor that never left his room to buzz them in.

"It's Seifer," he spoke into the dingy box, waiting for the whine and click as the lock disengaged. How the old man confirmed the identities of the people he allowed in was anyone's guess, but he hadn't let in the wrong _sort_ yet. An occasional bum, down on his luck and seeking a warm place to spend a night, but never a dangerous unknown, or skulking killer searching out their next victim. It could have been magic. It could have been just extraordinary luck. He didn't question it, just accepted it, and dropped by leftover dinners in scrupulously cleaned Tupperware dishes to the old man whenever he had the chance.

"You're back early," came the wheezing response, the door clicking open.

"Yeah…" Not much else to say, as he walked into the lobby and towards the elevators, paying little attention to the nubby carpeting and inexpertly painted walls. Amazing that the elevators worked, when he'd learned from coworkers — ex-coworkers — that such a thing was nearly unheard of; _their_ elevators were constantly out of service. His, he supposed, were the pet project of another tenant. They might have been poor, his neighbors, but they had their pride. They'd never imagined they'd end up where they had, but they did their best not to live down to society's expectations.

The elevator doors opened, and he exited to the sounds of soft jazz; the musician a few rooms down was practicing, or merely taking a break from constant rehearsal to play something he enjoyed. A chair was opening up in the Philharmonic, and the man had talked excitedly at last week's potluck about the opportunity. Everyone had wished him luck, for the competition was fierce, and just living where he did was a black mark prospective employers seldom ignored.

Seifer opened the door of his apartment; it was unlocked; it was _always_ unlocked. If someone wanted in badly enough, a lock wouldn't stop them, and would only add to the property damage. Not that anyone had ever tried breaking in, and not that anyone ever would. There was no point in stealing from someone who had nothing. That's _if_ they somehow managed to get into the building to begin with.

The first thing he saw, walking in and quietly closing the door behind him, was Dryn fast asleep on the couch, Saisei a white, furry muffler around his neck. Unexpected, and after a moment's contemplation he lifted his head, catching sight of Zell at the makeshift table, paperwork piled in front of him and a well-nibbled pen caught between his teeth.

"Hey," he announced his presence, moving forward and placing a quick kiss against the other man's temple, "I thought your shift lasted till 6:00."

"Was supposed to," Zell sighed, and stretched his arms out, pulling Seifer down for a more satisfactory greeting. Lips met familiarly; little passion, but much comfort, and the sweet aftertaste of lemon. "Dryn's school called me in." He shook his head, wheaten hair falling over his eyes only to be brushed peremptorily back. "He's been suspended for a week. Eight days." Azure eyes glanced over to the sleeping boy. "Close enough."

"Suspended?" He straightened, and pulled open the fridge door, peering inside. A carton of milk, half full, butter in a covered dish, a few eggs given to them by a couple two floors down grateful for their help rehinging the door that led out to the fire escape; little enough food for a family of three. He chose a carrot; the bundle hadn't been there that morning. One of the few perks Zell received being head of produce at the nearby market; they never lacked for fresh vegetables. "What for?" Sitting down in the spare chair, he took a bite of the carrot and chewed.

"Those haven't been washed yet," Zell warned, a brief smile lighting his face as the older man shrugged carelessly. "Tch, fine. Be a heathen." His humor was short-lived, as his attention focused back on the papers in front of him. "Would you believe it was for fighting?"

"What?" It was an unexpected answer, and Seifer felt a vague sense of outrage. "Dryn's a good boy; he'd never start a fight, though we've certainly taught him how to finish one." He kept his voice level, not wanting to wake the two on the couch, but he wanted to yell. Preferably at an idiot principal, should the man be foolish enough to pick up his phone. "I mean, _fighting_ for Hyne's sake…"

"I suppose massacring would be more accurate; by the time the monitors got to them, he was at the top of a pile of kids. He certainly _finished_ the fight, Seif. Two of the boys were knocked out cold."

"Were they?" He'd gloat, if the situation wasn't so bothersome. "I just don't get it. If a pack of bullies ganged up on Dryn, why is he suspended?"

"He threw the first punch. They'd just finished History, and had been let out for recess. The teacher's lecture had been on the second Sorceress War. From what I've been able to piece together, his classmates started making derogatory comments about Ultimecia's Knight." Zell leaned his elbows on the table, folding his hands underneath his chin. "Dryn tried ignoring them until something _really_ nasty was said; the school nurse had to write it down for me, she was stammering so badly. And I don't know if any of those kids realize who you are, Seif; I got the impression that they were just as confused as to why Dryn attacked them as the school's faculty was."

"People can't recognize me without that old trench coat."

"I guess. So, I was called in, and it's not like I'm going to explain to them why Dryn's actions were perfectly justifiable. As if they'd believe he was only trying to defend the honor of his father's boyfriend." He gave a deep sigh, and leaned back into the chair, stretching his back with an audible crack. "I told him I wasn't mad at him, that I understood." A pen was back in his fingers, and Zell rolled it across the splintered surface of the table. "He was still pretty upset. I decided to stay with him instead of going back into work, at least until you got home. If I leave now, I should be able to get a few hours…" A glance at the clock hanging above the kitchen window informed him of the time. "More than a few hours, it looks like." He stared at the taller man accusingly. "So — what are _you_ doing home early?"

He didn't want to explain, didn't want to add to the dark shadows underneath Zell's eyes. He didn't have the words that would soften the news, so he pulled the figurine out of his backpack and set it on the table between them in all its appalling glory. And he didn't want to see the shocked expression on Zell's face, but short of childishly closing his eyelids, he didn't have much choice.

"You did this?" Zell asked, hesitantly reaching out and tapping one red stained wing with a fingernail.

"Whole batch of them this morning, and never realized it. Boss told me to come home; here I am."

"…Seif." The figurine glared malevolently at them both; Zell draped a mustard-splotched paper towel over her leering visage. "Now what? These bills," he waved his hand over a stack of crumpled envelopes, settled it over a legal-sized notepad, "utilities, vet fees, that trip to the emergency room; I've gone over them, and _over_ them, but the math never changes. There's no way of paying them all, and rent — and now your check's gonna be short, unless we can find you _another_ job…" He took a deep breath, held it, then let it out as an agonized sigh. "I didn't mean it like that."

"You did."

Zell reached across the table, and held the larger man's hand tightly enough to hurt. "I did, but not like _that_. I," he paused, as the boy on the couch shifted position, then settled with a raspy snore. Seeing that Dryn was still deeply asleep, he continued. "I don't know what to do, Seif. Khoral always handled finances; I hate this; together we should be bringing in enough to cover expenses, but the little things are killing us." With his free hand, he scrubbed tiredly at his face. "The school's councilor is coming over next week, to discuss Dryn's behavior. He's coming **here**, Seif." A tiny, choked-back sob, and Zell lowered his arm, revealing tear bright eyes. "They're gonna take him away from us; I just _know_ it."

"Shhh." Seifer kissed the hand clenched around his own. "They won't. Dryn has the bedroom to himself; we don't even share the couch, taking turns on the floor. There's nothing here social services can take offense with. Everyone in this neighborhood is poor. They'll understand that."

"Will they be so understanding when they see our fridge is empty? The cupboards bare? We make sure Dryn never goes hungry — but the system's going to give him to Khoral who has a decent job, and medical insurance…" His voice softened, sounding lost. "And she doesn't want him. Which still might be better for him, 'cause all indications point to us being homeless by the end of next week."

It struck him speechless, the other man's hopelessness, when always before he'd been the unfailing support needed when Seifer most felt like giving up. With a small tug he unveiled the figurine, her cruel sneer mocking those at the table. He wasn't going to let her win, not now, so many years both before, and after, her death.

_You kan run, my Knight. Run back to my side; I'll protekt you, my own._

"We might lose the apartment," he grudgingly conceded, then cleared his throat. "But — that doesn't leave us out on the streets. There's your house in Balamb."

Zell jerked, pulling his hand free from the other's comforting hold. "That's _Ma's_ house."

"It's _your_ house. She left it to you in her will. Every year you pay property taxes on a house that stands empty. Either let it go," he uncapped one of the pens discarded about the table, and used it to cross out the price of rent from Zell's list of unpaid debts. "Or let it save us."

Scowling down at the notepad, a tear fell, smearing the fresh ink. "It's Ma's house… but you're right. Damn you for being right." He wiped his face dry with the wrinkled paper towel. "We could make it in Balamb; I could transfer; you could find a better job than ever you could here. But what about Garden?"

"What about it?" With the ball of his thumb Seifer wiped away the last trace of wetness glimmering across the younger man's cheek. "Like you said: No one recognizes me as the Sorceress' Knight any longer. The only ones that might… Well, I don't think top-ranked SeeDs would have much business at the working end of the fish market. Might get Balambfish guts all over their shiny SeeD-issue boots. And the market's always willing to hire a guy that can work a knife without losing a finger."

Brief indignation flared in azure eyes. "You can do better than that!"

"Hush," Seifer warned, too late.

Dryn woke, shifting Saisei to his lap and blurrily peering over the edge of the couch. "Better'n what?"

"Than this." Zell stood, knocking a handful of red-stamped pink envelopes to the floor. "I need t' talk with your Mom, but it looks like we're probably moving."

"Moving?" Nudging the slumbering dog to the next cushion, Dryn shuffled slowly to the table. "Where?" Spotting the figurine, he examined it curiously, his attention split unevenly between it, and his father.

"You remember your Grama Dincht's house?"

"We're gonna live in Balamb?" the boy asked excitedly. "Cool." Without catching a breath, he then pointed to the miniature sorceress. "You paint that, Uncle Seif?"

"Yes," both men replied, glancing at each other for the simultaneous response. Seifer grinned, while pushing the mispainted angel closer to the inquisitive child. "It's Ultimecia. Pretty scary, ain't she?"

"Huh?" The dark-haired boy picked up the figurine, examining it from all angles. "Nah, not really. She kinda looks like one of the clowns from the circus, don't you think, Dad? The one with all the poodles, and the hula-hoop? Can I have her, Uncle Seif, can I?"

Bemused, Seifer nodded at the boy beseechingly tugging at his shirtsleeve. "—I guess. But why in the world would you want her?"

"Duh." Dryn rolled his eyes in exasperation, perfect copy of his father when faced with a silly question. "She's perfect for Mr. Monkey. My PuPu plushies can kidnap her, and Mr. Monkey can save her, then she can run off and elope with that Moomba toy Uncle Irvie gave me. Thanks, Uncle Seif!" He hugged the scarred man tightly, then hurried to his room, waving the small Ultimecia through the air while making whooshing jet-fighter noises. "Wait until my army men see you coming to attack their fort! Betcha they summon Cactuar. 10000 needles, yaaah!"

The moment the bedroom door closed Zell broke down into quiet laughter. "Finally, a use for that UFO catcher that set you back 20 gil."

"10000 needles, yaaah!" Seifer wiggled his fingers menacingly, joining in the laughter. "Puts the whole second Sorceress War into perspective, doesn't it? I was there to boost Galbadian morale — since I looked damned fine on the recruitment posters — and Ultimecia was trying t' get into Mr. Monkey's pants."

Zell choked, struggling to catch his breath while consumed with mirth. "Don't — don't got no pants! Not that it woulda done her any good; Mr. Monkey was already with that thing in Obel lake. Must've disappointed her t' no end. Lost out to a giant gelatinous mass."

Chuckling, Seifer took another bite from his carrot. "Really though, are you all right with this?" he asked after swallowing. "If it's too much — we'll figure out another way. There's _always_ another way. We'll get by."

"No. You said it: I've got to let it go. —Her go. I think… I think she wanted me home, when Garden tossed me out."

"When Squall tossed you out."

"Same difference. I think she'd be happy, knowing we'll be living there. I just couldn't face it, before. I miss her, so much. But with you there, and Dryn, it'll be fine." Zell picked up the scattered bills, and piled them back on the table. "I'm off to call Khoral," he said, exiting the apartment and closing the door quietly behind him, for the only phone working in the building was down in the lobby.

A phone call wouldn't be enough, Seifer mused. Khoral would be paying them a visit, but in the end, she'd let them go. She loved Zell as much as he did, and going back to Balamb would help heal various hurts inflicted upon the younger man by Squall; by Garden; by the loss of the only mother he'd ever known.

He settled next to Saisei on the couch, her legs jerking in her sleep, dreaming, no doubt, of running and chasing and catching. Dryn's voice, muffled by the closed bedroom door, was babbling something about marriage and winged-monkey babies. And there, behind his lowered lids, Ultimecia pouted, her lipstick smeared and her gray hair caught up in a hundred tiny braids adorned with yellow yarn ribbons.

_Kurses, foiled again!_

For now, he was safe from her haunting his daydreams.


	5. Saisei's Journey

_**Disclaimer:** Nobody knows where my sanity's gone, but common sense left the same time. Why do they belong to _Square_, when they're supposed to be mine? It's my fanfic and I'll post if I want to, post if I want to, post if I want to… You would post too, if it occurred to you!_

_**Notes:** I had a blast on Heimlich's Chew Chew Train over at California Adventure. Yum, cookies! That — has very little to do with this fic. Besides the fact they both involve trains._

_**Warnings:** Fic was written under the influence of _Jr._ from the Xenosaga II soundtrack, stuck on endless repeat._ Es que selavi in lemitamor_… And if that doesn't scare you off, there's a really annoying OC with a _really_ annoying accent. Speech pattern. Whatever. A bit of language… and I think the fic is missing any type of recognizable plot. Enjoy!_

**Saisei's Journey**

It was cold in the predawn, sunrise nothing more than a lessening of darkness towards the east, the moon overhead casting all the light needed to see by; unlooked for fortune, for the bulbs of the graffiti-besmirched street lamps had burned out long years since, and city maintenance had never bothered with their replacement. Rare occurrence, that the moon could be seen through the smog at all, nearly unheard of for it to be bright enough to reveal the downtrodden neighborhood. Frosted, and illuminated pale blue, the buildings of the slum took on a grander appearance, small, unnoticed defiance against their current squalid condition. Unseasonable weather in the rotted heart of an unnatural city, and Seifer was glad to be leaving it behind.

They stood out on the sidewalk, Zell and Dryn and he, hard-used duffle bags at their feet, and Saisei warm against his chest, tucked up inside his coat and content with her nose sniffing the biting air and her black button eyes marking the shadows that lurked in the alleyways — not unusual, though the early morning seldom presented prospects. Together they were too large of a group to be considered a soft target, and Saisei protected them most of all; the retreating shadows knew shrill barking would be hard to muffle; much too much of a risk to take for such little reward.

Headlights in the distance, and the hum of a motor working far more efficiently than its manufacturer could have dreamed for the small, compact car. It pulled up to the curb smoothly, and the driver's window rolled down, releasing a wave of heated, strawberry-scented air.

"Get in," Khoral said curtly, her eyes done up expertly in bland shades of taupe and her long, dark hair caught in a bun at the nape of her neck.

"Hey Mom!" Dryn called excitedly, running to the car door and reaching up to touch, to hug, to reassure himself of his place in her heart.

"Hi baby." Her voice was softer, and she grasped her son's hands in her own. "I picked up doughnuts. Get in, your hands are like ice. Where are your gloves?" She leaned her head out of the window, and fixed her demanding gaze upon the shorter man busily stuffing bags into the trunk. "Zell, why isn't he wearing his gloves?"

Seifer gently pushed Dryn around the front of the car, and settled him next to his mother, adjusting the safety harness to wrap properly around his chest, and not his neck. He hadn't much practice with the procedure; the last time he'd helped the boy into a car, Dryn had been using a child's seat, being small for his age — legacy of both parents. "Saisei got hold of them last night. We'd left out today's clothes…"

"I'm sure." The closing trunk rattled the car, and she rolled up her window while cranking the heater higher. "Wretched time you've chosen to leave," she pulled down the visor, and stared at the two blonde men climbing into the back seat. "I suppose it's for the best; I can get you to the station, and not be late for work. But you should have been better prepared. You _know_ the weather's been chancy. Was that all you're taking?"

Three duffles, and Saisei's carrier; carry-on luggage, for they couldn't afford additional expenses. "Not much to take," Zell answered, blowing on his fingers to warm them — his gloves also having fallen victim to their family's tiniest member. "Irvine has the important stuff. He'll ship it once we've saved up a bit. Ma's place…" his face stiffened for a brief moment, as he struggled with misplaced emotion, pushing back grief. "Everything we need should be there, besides clothes, which we're taking, and Dryn's toys."

Flipping the visor back up, she shrugged, and pulled out onto the street. "And how, exactly, are you planning to get Saisei on the train?"

The dog, upon hearing her name, wriggled out of Seifer's coat and jumped to the front, wedging herself between Dryn's shoulder and the bucket seat while licking frantically at his cold-reddened ear. "We've got her bye-bye bag," the boy said, giggling and pushing the dog's questing snout away from his face, allowing the bit of fluff to nibble at his fingers instead. "And her potty pads, and water and food, and her bankie."

"Her bye-bye bag, and bankie." Khoral glanced at the rearview mirror, changing lanes without bothering to signal the non-existent traffic. "I'm a teacher, guys," she scolded all three, while the slums vanished behind them as they entered a more prosperous section of the city. "Could you at least make an _attempt_ to use the language properly?"

Zell snickered, smiling fondly at the woman in front of him. "And where's the fun in that? Like it or not, Saisei recognizes the words; not much point in teaching her proper grammar at this late a' date."

"Of a…" Lips pursed, Khoral turned left. "You're right, dear. No need to strain itty-bitty brains with what they'll never understand."

The two bickered amicably, and Seifer listened to them with amusement. Zell might now be his to cherish, but he'd known them both for years — and he was glad they were comfortable around each other, still friends with a son shared between them. He rescued the umber-haired boy from the loving attentions of his dog, and settled her in the crook of his arm, his elbow resting on the door, high enough for her to peer out the window in search of someone to scold in righteous canine indignation.

The city was almost lovely, bathed in moonlight and the fragile sheen of frost. Almost, with the darkened windows of skyscrapers reflecting earth and sky, he could recall the beauty he'd once seen in his youth, and not the trap which had held him for so long. He scratched Saisei in the good place behind her ears, his fingers tangling in the fine strands of her hair while she panted approval.

"You'll come to visit, right Mom?"

Beside him, Zell stiffened and leaned into his side as Khoral sighed, making another turn before reaching out to ruffle her son's hair. "I don't think so, sweetie. I've got work here, and Balamb's pretty far away." Her hand returned to the steering wheel; her dark, gleaming eyes had never left the road. "But I'll write."

"Yeah…" Dryn bit down into his bottom lip, the tip of one long canine drawing a bead of blood that was quickly licked away. "And call. You can call."

Khoral flinched, the speed of the car picking up momentarily before she caught herself, and eased off the gas. "Baby, it's long distance. Neither your Dad nor I have that kind of money. It's too expensive—"

"To call often," Zell interrupted her, leaning forward between the seats and nudging Dryn in his side. "But we'll figure something out; I've got a few minutes left on the calling card, enough t' let your Mom know all about your new room, and t' tell her how the trip went." Fumbling with the pink box at his feet, he pulled out a maple-glazed bar and handed it to his son, along with a napkin scavenged from his coat pocket. "We'll worry about later, later, huh?"

"It's not worrying about later that makes _your_ later so worrisome," Khoral said sharply, braking as they came to the meagerly lit station. "Sweetie," she set the parking brake, unfastened her belt, and hugged the small boy fiercely. "I love you. Always, forever, you'll be my baby boy. And because of that, I'm not going to make promises I can't keep. I'll write. And maybe by next summer I'll have saved enough to come visit, but I doubt it. We gave you a choice — and you chose your father."

Zell turned to his ex-wife, stunned by her words. "Khoral—"

"Don't!" Shoving the door open, she stumbled out into the frigid air. "Don't you _dare_ say _anything_, Zell Dincht! I drove you here, and you're leaving me, and taking our son… because of him!" She jabbed a sharp-nailed finger in Seifer's direction. "Every second," she hissed at the scarred blonde that was slowly making his way out of the car, "with every damned _breath_ I regret the day that you lived. I let you into our home — and you destroyed it, and I'll _never_ forgive you for that."

"…Khoral…" Zell remained huddled in the car, his son's hands wrapped tightly around his arm and the stickiness of maple doughnut pressed between them.

"I've driven you here," she told him, a tear falling, its purity testament that she'd thought ahead, and used waterproof mascara. "And I've been gracious, but there's nothing left inside for me to fall back on. So get out of the car, and get your bags out of the trunk, before I kill Seifer. And I don't want to do that; I don't. But I was SeeD long before I became a _humble_ public servant, and right now he's the only thing preventing me from taking you and Dryn home."

Father and son exited, clinging to each other against the woman's wrath. "Mommy," Dryn mumbled, clutching at Zell and close to tears. "Don't be mad…"

Finished unloading the trunk, Saisei a shivering bundle at his feet, Seifer fumbled in his pockets, eventually pulling out a sealed wet-nap. "A bit messy with the doughnut," he murmured, avoiding Khoral's accusing glare. He ripped open the foil envelope, unfolding the moist towelette. "Gotta get you cleaned up before the train gets here."

Striding forward, Khoral reached out to snatch the wet-nap, but was sidetracked by the clunking chang of an approaching truck, hideously orange and rust and countless dents of a decade's accumulation. The vehicle wheezed to a stop, steam venting from underneath the hood, and the driver's door creaked open.

"Piece of crap!" the man getting out of the truck complained, kicking a booted foot at the deep treads of the m/s tire. "Didn't think I'd make it in time." He ran his hand through his short, mahogany hair, giving a sharp tug to the stubby tail in the back. Grinning, he walked towards the group, his lavender eyes both happy, and incredibly tired. "Guys," he greeted them, getting to one knee and holding out his arms. "Lil' bit! Gimme a hug!"

"Uncle Irvie!" Dryn ran into the man's embrace, smearing maple and a few white hairs along the sides of his faded black hoodie. "You came!"

"You betcha. Couldn't let my favoritist kiddo go off gallivanting without a proper good-bye, now could I?" He patted the child gently on the back, and looked over Dryn's dark head to his friends, standing in place and taking care not to look at each other. "Though by the feel of things, seems I mighta already missed something."

"Nothing important." Grabbing the towelette from Seifer, Khoral handed it to Irvine before mildly tilting her son's head up, placing a feathery kiss on his forehead. "I'll be waiting for your call, baby. Enjoy the trip — and maybe you'll see Garden when you get there."

"Bye, Mommy." And Dryn tilted his head, but made no attempt to catch her as she walked away, hurriedly getting into the car and driving off before anyone could think to stop her. "…I'll miss you…"

Irvine blinked, then began cleaning up the boy still within his arms. "Doughnuts, hmm?" His smile was less certain, his eyes all the more tired. "I take it," he pitched his voice to carry to the two blondes standing nearby, "that Khoral's not taking your leaving well. Aye, Saisei," he greeted the dog, who'd bounded over to help with the clean-up, "easy, girl. Seifer'll skin me, you get all sticky. Zell, some help here?"

The tattooed man took over the chore, using the wet-nap to clean his own arm before starting the meticulous task of wiping icing from between his son's fingers. "Wasn't expecting you here, Irvine. Not that it's not wonderful seeing you, but your shift's not yet ended."

"You really think I'd let my two oldest friends sneak off in the middle of the night?"

Reclaiming Saisei, Seifer tucked her close to his side before helping the other man to his feet. "Scarcely the middle of the night; thanks, Kinneas. The conversation was getting — really ugly — before you showed." And why was he surprised, that Khoral's giving nature had finally soured? If it had been _him_ Zell was leaving… Her sentiments were deadly accurate. He wouldn't _want_ to hurt her, but would, if it meant keeping his family together. Truly, he didn't know how she'd managed to stay polite for so long; didn't know _why_ she hadn't fought harder, unless — conceited fancy — she'd believed herself outclassed.

"Figured." Dusting off his knee, Irvine lazily flicked a stray crumb from the denim. "I'm amazed I got here before you left. Train running late?"

"Perpetually." Hunched over, Seifer opened the end of the mesh-sided pet carrier, lowering his curious, squirming handful in front of it. "Bye-bye, Saisei. Bye-bye." Wagging her tail, she darted inside and quickly turned around, catching his fingers in her bluntly pointed teeth. "There's a good girl," he praised, zipping the flap closed and picking up the carrier.

A sharp whistle cut off his babbling; the squealing of the locomotive's brakes prevented him from resuming it. "Zell," he picked up one of the duffles in his free hand, "you about done?"

"Just…" He made a quick swipe at his son's chin before tossing the soiled towelette into the trashcan chained to the boarding platform. "That does it. Dryn, stay beside me," he warned, picking up the remaining two duffles. "Irvine…"

"I know; you've got t' go. Let me know when you've settled in; I'll send your stuff when you're ready — though I'm growing fond of that little black and white set." He hugged the shorter man, his eyes closed, his expression determined. "Personally, I hope you never have to see Garden again. If you come across Selphie, though, y' know, just _happen_ to run in to her… You know what to tell her. She deserves the truth I was too cowardly t' speak."

"I will." Zell wanted to return the hug; couldn't, with his arms weighed down with luggage. "If I see her. I'll miss you, ya jerk."

"Twit." Stepping back, Irvine tweaked the tip of Dryn's nose. "Take care, lil' bit. Keep those two galoots in line."

"I will, Uncle Irvie." The boy held out his hand, and just as gravely Irvine shook it. "I'll write."

"You do that. Better yet, send me your phone number, and I'll call ya, 'least every two weeks. Just 'cause you're moving doesn't mean you get out of helping me with the crosswords."

Seifer waited by the open door, watched as Dryn's handshake turned tremulous at this final farewell, as Irvine unknowingly soothed the hurt caused by Khoral's spiteful words. "We've gotta go…" Dryn sniffled, and obeyed, entering the train, followed by his father, leaving Seifer to face Irvine alone. "—Thanks, Kinneas."

"Go," the other man urged, still smiling with tired eyes. "Things will be fine, you'll see."

He hoped so, as he stepped forward, feeling the door close behind him, hearing it lock into place. Zell had claimed four chairs at the back of the compartment, two facing forward, two facing back, forming a cozy square. He joined them, placing Saisei carefully on the chair next to Dryn and the duffle in the handy overhead storage with their other two bags.

A jolt, and the locomotive began to move. Out the window, Seifer could see Irvine standing forlornly on the platform, watching them leave.

"Okay then," Zell said briskly, removing his coat and stashing it with the rest of the luggage. "We're off!" He made a show of his enthusiasm, clapping his hands together and bouncing from foot to foot. "Dryn, you've got the most important job. As you know, Saisei's not supposed to be here, so it'll be up to you to keep her entertained — but more so," he leaned forward, a finger upraised for emphasis, "to keep her quiet. If _they_ find our little stowaway, they'll boot her off, and Seif'll fling himself after her, and I'd hafta lunge after Seif, and you'd run after me… and the train'll prolly be on a bridge when it happens, and we'd hafta swim for Balamb…" He shivered in mock terror. "It'd be horrible."

Dryn giggled at his father's theatrics; so did Seifer.

"Lunge after me, would you?" he smirked, then stiffened as he heard the front entrance of the car open. Nonchalantly he slipped out of his coat, draping it over Saisei's carrier while removing an envelope from one of its inner pockets.

"Tickets?" the Conductor asked, walking with the graceful sway of a person long adapted to the motion of trains, and wearing the customary uniform and cap of the railroad's employees.

Seifer opened the envelope and handed over their tickets, purchased two days prior from a travel agency a few blocks away from their old apartment.

"Balamb, is it? That's a ways to be going, it is," the Conductor said kindly. "You'll be wanting to know where the dining car is then: Two cars up, and open from 6:00 in the morning till 8:00 in the evening — and if you've a notion for something in the middle of the night, there's vending machines. Lavatory's directly behind you, so it is. You must've noticed, to choose the seats you have, what with such a long journey ahead of you. But… no blankets, no pillows…?"

Blushing at the old man's friendly question, Zell shook his head. "Couldn't afford extra luggage."

"Ock, and you with a little one! Well, we'll see, we'll see if a few belongings from the sleeping car'll show up here tonight, won't we? What's your name, bairn?"

One arm over the concealed carrier, Dryn stared up at the conductor with huge, unwavering eyes. "Dryn, sir. Dryn Dincht. We're going to Balamb, t' live in Grama's old house."

"Are you, now? And you a DD! Why, I'm Davin Delohn," he introduced himself, holding out his age-twisted hand, which the umber-haired boy shook in fascinated politeness. "We DDs need t' stick together, dontcha know? Well now, I'll be heading back up, seeing as how this's the last car, so I'd scarcely be going further down." He chuckled, and punched the tickets, handing them back to Seifer. "Good journey to you folks; I'm in for the long stretch meself, so's if you're needing a thing, just ask for DD. 'Day sirs," he said, tipping his cap before leaving.

Dryn waited for his departure before whispering, "Is he one of _them_?"

Thoughtful, Seifer pulled his coat off of the carrier, and placed the envelope back into its pocket. "Maybe not. Better safe than sorry, though. Eh, Saisei?" Busily gnawing at a pig ear, the dog cocked an ear at the sound of her name, but didn't bother looking up from her treat. "Hopefully, she'll do her business in the restroom, just like the rest of us. Speaking of which," he reached his arms overhead, and stretched, "wanna check out the facilities, Dryn? Use them before they get mucked up for the day?"

"Not much like the private SeeD cars, is it?" Zell mused, sitting down and leaning his head against the high seat back. "My bet is there's room enough for one person. One teeny, tiny person."

"Lucky you, then." Nimbly avoiding the swat aimed his way, he slid open the restroom door, peering in. "Incredibly lucky. The only way I'll fit in there is sideways. **With** my gut sucked in."

"What gut?" Dryn asked, poking mischievously at the scarred blonde's stomach, then darting past him, sliding the door closed and locking it, causing the small sign by the handle to switch from green to red. "Gee, it _is_ tiny!"

Embarrassing necessities taken care of, the two of them then explored the other cars, sniffing wistfully while checking out the dining compartment, and hurrying past the sleeping compartment, passing by the Conductor, who favored them with a wink. They then returned to Zell and Saisei, and settled in to what would become routine for the journey, while the train stopped at various stations picking up passengers and letting a rare few off.

"Okay, then. I'm going to the picnic," Seifer said, slouched comfortably in his chair watching the boy in front of him, and not the green-gold plains streaking past the window. "And I'm bringing apples, bread, canned cat food, dumplings, eggs, fisheyes and glue, gooey chocolate-covered gayla guts, umm…"

"Starts with an H," Dryn urged, kicking his feet back and forth and fiddling with the armrest.

"Does it now?" The scarred blonde kicked a foot in return, just brushing the tip of the boy's sneaker. "Imagine that. H, H… Hyne's miracle tonic, good for what ails you, tummy aches, and stripping paint," he pointedly rolled his eyes to the younger man seated beside him, "and… ice cream in fourteen flavors, including sour gummi and peppermint schnapps."

"In your dreams," Zell murmured, and Dryn pouted, saying, "That's not a real flavor!"

"Heh. Sour gummi, green tea, and triple mocha raspberry dazzle."

"Hmm." Repeating the list silently to set it more firmly in memory, Dryn nodded. "That works. I'm going to the picnic, and I'm bringing…"

They played countless rounds, while the people around them either grew irritated with their constant chattering, or learned to tune them out. They brought food items, comic book heroes, various books and movies and video game characters to their picnic. And when they grew bored of memorized lists, they switched to games of I Spy; they thumb wrestled; they bombarded each other with 20 Questions.

Seifer carried Saisei to the restroom, then returned after long minutes. "She did business," he said, his voice hushed, for by now the car was quite full. "Ate, and drank. Not all that happy to go back in the carrier, though. I gave her a bit of sedative; that should hold her till this evening."

During his absence Zell had pulled down one of their duffles, taking out a brown bag filled with cheese sandwiches and carrot sticks. "I hate having to use the fountain," he handed over wrapped sandwiches, his nose wrinkled in distaste, "but we don't have much choice. Water was just too heavy t' bring with us. I did pack plastic cups; we can at least bring the water back to our seats."

Lunch: cheap store-brand bread and processed cheese slices, the carrots brought back from the tattooed man's last day at work, and water in blobra-themed cups, refilled several times to the annoyance of the woman sitting closest to the fountain. Then, more games. Cat's Cradle, Storm Clouds, and the Dancing, Headless Pig; A Rabbit, Two Coyotes, and Three Sunfish were brought to life on a looped piece of yarn. They counted cows; chocobos; people wearing hats versus people wearing ties.

Few passengers got on now during the train's infrequent stops. Far more left, until their car was once again empty of all but themselves. The shades had been pulled to block out the setting sun, but now it was true dark, and their window remained uncovered so they could speculate on the origins of distant lights.

Dinner was yet more sandwiches; bologna, and peanut butter and jelly — grape jelly, scraped from the bottom of the jar and spread thin, last of the food remaining in the apartment. Seifer and Dryn pulled back the top layer of bread to examine the contents of their meal, then traded sandwiches, wearing matched grins when Zell raised an eyebrow but refrained from comment. Dinner, quickly eaten and the left-over litter disposed of; enough to satisfy Dryn, and enough to take the edge off Seifer's hunger.

His stomach grumbled dissatisfaction, causing Zell to look over with a measuring, searching stare. "Damn," the younger man breathed unhappily, before taking out his wallet, and passing over a five-gil note.

Protesting, Seifer tried returning the money. "We can't afford—"

"You and Dryn," Zell overrode, adamantly refusing to take the gil back, "go to the dining car. Get yourselves a bit of dessert. Gotta have something sweet, a treat on an adventure like this. I'll be in the restroom getting Saisei fed." He stood, pleased with his son's whoop of delight, dragging the taller man up with him. "Go. Bring me back something while you're at it. Maybe they've got a snick-snack large enough for us to share."

Both ashamed and grateful, he ducked his head and took hold of Dryn's hand, leading him back through the line of cars, cars that held more travelers than their own, cars that perhaps held travelers that had once been in their own, for he was sure he recognized the put-upon woman who'd been next to the fountain, now reading a magazine with the help of an overhead light.

The dining car was busy; over half the tables were full with people avidly talking over their meals, or eating with silent, brisk efficiency. The glowing, backlit menu beckoned; he'd only glanced at it on his earlier trip, but now, doing his best to read blurred words without the help of his glasses, he was dismayed. Everything, down to the fountain-supplied sodas, was exorbitantly expensive.

"Whoa." Clinging to his arm, Dryn had also been reading the menu. "What can we get, Uncle Seif? Maybe a box of cookies? Dad likes cookies. Is there tax, do you think?" He stood on tiptoe, trying to get a better look at the board. "If there's tax… Well, they've got candy bars up at the counter. We could split an Oh Henry, or a package of Sixlets. If we ate them one at a time, they'd last a while…"

"I don't know," Seifer said, rubbing at the faded scar marking his forehead. "It doesn't seem right, spending that much on candy. We could get so much more, once we're in Balamb—"

"Can I help you," the young lady behind the counter asked them, noticing their hesitance in ordering.

Glancing shyly up, then back down, Dryn shook his head, dark hair covering his disappointment. "Nah, we were just lookin'. Thank you anyway, ma'am."

"Are you sure?" Her elbows planted firmly on the counter and her feet briefly leaving the floor, she leaned forward, startling the young boy into looking directly at her. "'Cause there's an order here been waiting for a Mr. DD; would you happen to know him, sir?"

"Ex-Excuse me?" Dryn asked, clutching tighter to his Uncle's hand, who was equally bewildered.

"Miss," Seifer said, tired and aching from a day spent sitting, "I think you have us confused. The Conductor—"

"Is the one that brought your order, yes." She smiled charmingly before turning around and grabbing a Styrofoam box with the initials DD prominently written on the lid. "Here it is; sporks and napkins and extra plates are there to the side. Enjoy!"

Seifer tried again. "You don't understand, we don't—"

"If there's a problem, you'll need to take it up with the Conductor; I'm just a cashier, you know, as in," her fingers flexed in the air, "responsible for cash. The Conductor, he's the one in charge of conduct." Her cheerfulness was infectious; Dryn hid his giggling behind his free hand, while Seifer caved, picking up the warm box. "Pleasant night, gentlemen."

"Yeah…" He was bone-deep tired, and aching from more — perhaps — than sitting, and the mouth-watering aroma of peaches was drifting up from the container. "Thank you. I… thanks." Dryn had slipped his grip to get plastic silverware; side by side they made their way to the back of the train.

Zell was there, his legs propped on the opposite seat, his back bent in a muscle-easing stretch. "There you are. I was starting t' wonder if you'd gotten lost. So," he slipped his feet off the edge of the chair, smoothing the wrinkles adorning his pants — clothes that he'd still be wearing the next day. "Whatcha bring me? Was there change?"

Shrugging, Seifer opened the box, displaying the large square of peach crumble within. "I've still got the five-note. Cashier told us it's the Conductor's doing. Didn't do much good, tryin' t' argue with her." He took a deep, peach-scented breath. "Man, it smells good."

Dryn passed out plates, and chintzy sporks, then waited patiently for his flimsy paper plate to be filled. "She was _way_ cool," he told his father, spearing a peach slice from the generous helping Seifer had scooped out for him. "The cashier, that is." Aware that good things were being eaten without her supervision, Saisei whimpered. Dryn eased back the end zipper and slipped her a piece of the sugar-encrusted crumb topping. "She knew I was a DD! How'd she know?"

Lips twisted in wry humor, Seifer served Zell, then dug into the rest. "News gets around, I suppose." There was noise from the front of the compartment, and his smirk deepened as two men dressed in the railroad's uniform entered. "I hear tell," he called out, waving a spork heavy with fruit crumble, "that you're the foul perpetrator behind this ordering of dessert."

The Conductor saluted, fingers touching the brim of his cap. "Aye, that an' I am. What kind of a trip is it, without a little something special?" His left arm held blankets, and clean — if somewhat past their prime — pillows; the man next to him carried a tray of cleaning supplies in his rubber-gloved hands. "This is Casey, come to take care of the lavatory. Usually this is his last car, but we agreed it would be a shame to go waking you up in the middle of the night when it's so easily preventable." He let the bedding fall to a chair across the aisle. "I'll be back in the morning to get these; so'll Casey be, to vacuum before coming into Balamb."

"You're — too kind," Zell said, looking lost, the crumble on his plate untouched. "All you're doing for us—"

"Be nothing much, I assure you, lad."

"He's not used to accepting charity," Seifer mumbled around too large of a bite. Blushing, he chewed and swallowed, then tried again. "Used to taking care of himself, and all those around him. Me, I'm grateful. Astonished, and _damned_ grateful, Davin."

"Well," the old man blushed in return, taking off his cap to rub at his head, bald but for a fringeof wiry gray at the back. "Indeed. I know a thing or three about chasing a dream. Meself, I once hitchhiked from Deling to Dollet, solely on the hopes of being hired by one of the trawlers what wintered there. A' course, by the time I made it to the city, the captains'd already had their pick of the lot. Sorry lot, at that. The crew of the _SeaBroom_ started a brawl in one of the dockside pubs that ended with the entire pier burned down to the pilings. Spent the next four years on the _'Broom_, so I did, and left 'er with enough in my wallet to impress as sweet a lass as ever there was." He slipped his cap back over his head, his eyes hazy with remembrance. "Ne'er woulda had my time with her, if'n it weren't for a family off to vacation along the coast; first car to pick me up after a week of trudging the dusty shoulder, and they treated me as one of their own all the way t' Timber."

"Neat," Dryn said, listening avidly to the Conductor's story.

"An adventure it was, bairn. Nowadays, a body don't dare accept rides from a stranger, nor a driver dare take a stranger in. The rails, though — that's a different beastie entirely. So lad," he cocked a finger at Zell admonishingly, "don't let Mio's fine sweet go to waste, for if you weren't here, that's _exactly_ where it would end up."

Obligingly, Zell took a bite, taking time to savor the rich cinnamon flavor. "Oh, it **is** good." Another, quicker bite, and a shy, sidelong glance. "Thank Mio for us, please? This is terrific. Just — unbelievably terrific. You've made this trip wonderful."

"Happy to have met you, sir. Truly, you've been a joy compared to some of the passengers what have blighted the tracks. Casey?" he called out, voice quavering yet gruff. "Are you done yet, man?"

"I'm done, old goat." Casey backed out of the restroom, ingenious collapsible mop in one gloved hand, and his tray of cleansers and brushes in the other. "Cleanest I've seen it in years; it was hardly any work at all."

"I think it's because we drove off most of the other passengers from this car," Seifer said, running his finger along the bottom of the Styrofoam box, hopeful of crumbs. "But we appreciate the cleaning. Makes the thought of going in to brush our teeth a lot more bearable."

"I'm sure!" The Conductor laughed, falling in behind the departing janitor. "A good night to you, lads. See you in the morrow."

"Night!" Dryn waved back, finished with his dessert and moving to throw away his and Seifer's dirtied, disposable dishes.

"Night, indeed — and already past your bedtime." Zell passed his plate to his son to discard before turning around to tug a duffle from the overhead storage. "I think brushing our teeth is a very good idea. And Seif… if we're settling down for the night, it should be okay t' let Saisei out. Let her run for a few minutes, do her business. If she spends the night on your lap, under the blanket, no one should know she's there if they come to check. We'll put her back in the carrier before morning."

Upon being freed, Saisei ran like a thing possessed, her white plumed tail wagging and her nose working furiously over the strange smells that had been assaulting her throughout the day. Business was done on her outspread pad, which was then stuffed into the restroom's small trash bin. She ran circles about their legs while they brushed their teeth; she slurped water, and gleefully attacked the food offered her, pouched chicken dinner carefully laced with vet-prescribed sedative. She let out a shrill yap, quickly hushed by her man, who squatted next to her when she flopped over onto her back in apology, offering up a pink belly for rubbing.

"Night night?" he asked her, and she turned over, leaping for his lap. He caught her; gave her a gentle hug as he carried her to his seat. The high-backed chair wasn't the most comfortable piece of furniture for sleeping, but the pillow offered cushioning for his head, and the blanket a safe haven for his loyal companion. "Such a good girl," he told her, then nodded at the child across from him, a worn-out, tousle-haired child who was yawning as his father tucked a blanket around him. "And you did great today, Dryn, watching Saisei. A job to be proud of."

"It was hard," Dryn said around a jaw-cracking yawn, "but I explained she had to behave herself. Like Dad says, we've all got to work together, or we won't get anywhere at all."

Zell smiled, spreading out another blanket. "You're the best, Dryn, the absolute _best_ son in the world. Think you'll be warm enough?"

"Yeah…" Azure eyes peered up into azure eyes. "Better than Mika Olmford?"

"_Way_ better. You know the kid that won the science fair last year?" Brushing back umber hair, Zell placed a sober kiss on his son's forehead. "You make him look like barbequed funguar on a stick. Hell, sometimes you make _me_ look like rancid shish kabob."

"Dad…"

"Sleep tight, and dream sweet."

"Love you, Dad. Uncle Seif." He tucked his head underneath the blankets, already hovering close to slumber. "Night."

"Night, Dryn." Seifer petted the small dog fast asleep in his lap, the motions calming, comforting. Zell sat down next to him, the last of the blankets wrapped about his body and the compartment dark except for the dim running lights that could only be switched off from the main board of the locomotive. It wasn't silent, for there was the omnipresent hum of the wheels rolling endlessly upon the steel tracks, but it _was_ quiet. Dryn snored, unmoving, and Zell pushed closer, resting his head on the other man's shoulder.

"Lets play a game," Seifer whispered, his breath not enough to disturb the golden hair laying so close to his mouth. "A game of make-believe." He paused, as Zell shifted, listening intently. "I'd have a house. Not a fancy one, but a comfortable one; a house full of good memories. I'd wake up each morning next to the most wonderful guy in the world — and I'd be grateful to be alive for another day. There'd be a son to be proud of, and him and me and his father would sit around the table eating breakfast, discussing our plans for the day."

"You cheat," Zell eventually whispered back, snuggling in closer. "That's not make believe at all. 'Cept, maybe, that wonderful guy part. He shows up in our bed, I'll kick his ass."

Stifling his laughter, Seifer stared out the window, watching the dark shapes of trees pass by. He _was_ glad to be alive, when years before he'd been desperate for some way to escape the torturous grasp of reality. Was glad that he'd finally allowed himself to _want_ again, something beyond reach, something he in no way deserved. Glad for this moment, caught between worlds and expectations and the realms of waking and sleep.

And sleep he must have, for the happy wiggling warmth against his chest definitely woke him. Not bothering to open his eyes, he reached out a fumbling hand to pat the exuberant dog, and urge her back underneath the blanket.

"And hello to you, sweetling! My, aren't you the wee one?"

The voice pulled him to full wakefulness. Blinking, he gaped in growing horror at the Conductor, who was there with three steaming cups held in a cardboard carrier, the fingers of his right hand held out for the curious dog to sniff at. Meeting with her approval, she then started gnawing contentedly on his ring finger.

"No, Saisei, bad!" Seifer scolded, tapping her side to gain her attention. "I'm sorry," he told the Conductor, mortified at being caught with his illicit cargo after all the old man had done for them. "Let him go—"

"Ock, the lass isn't doing any harm." Enchanted, he scritched her under her chin. "Bonny lass; never knew she was here."

"Seif?" Zell asked groggily, rubbing at his eyes. "What… oh!" He jerked upright, his blanket slithering to the floor to puddle about his feet. "Oh no…"

"Sorry to be disturbing your rest, but tis morning, and Casey's been itching t' finish his cleaning. I've got coffee, and a nice cocoa for the bairn, in exchange for the bedding."

By now Dryn was awake; at the mention of cocoa he was up, and industriously folding his blanket. "Sir, do we hafta go, now that you know about Saisei?"

"Go? To Balamb's where you're headed, to Balamb's where we'll take you. I'd say — you're already going, so you are." Piling pillows and blankets into a tidy heap, he nodded his head. "Your family, moving to Balamb; all I see is family, here. Casey man!" he bellowed cheerfully. "Get your lazy self in."

Grumbling, Casey entered, the vacuum already running. And while he cleaned, Zell took a sip of the cocoa, passing it to his son once assured it was cool enough not to burn a young mouth; sipped at his own coffee while attempting to press the wrinkles out of his shirt with the palm of his hand. And Seifer, his cheeks rosy with embarrassment, slipped into the restroom, pee pad in hand and Saisei at his heels, for she was insistent that business needed done, NOW, before she could harass the roaring monster that was the vacuum.

"We'll be making no more stops, not till Balamb, end of the line and our turn-around," the Conductor explained, nearly shouting to be heard. "Lights will be blazing for the tunnel; not much to see during the last leg, I'm afraid… Gah! Aren't you done yet, Casey? I can hardly think, what with your racket."

"Close enough, I s'pose," Casey said, turning off the vacuum. "Mighty neat folk you are; other cars are a mess, and here there's hardly a thing to complain of."

"Proper guests," the Conductor agreed, beaming. "Now, in case I don't see you before departure, it was delight meeting you." He shook their hands, including Seifer's as he sheepishly came out of the restroom. "Luck to you folks."

"Bye, Mr. DD," Dryn said, his upper lip covered in marshmallow foam from his cocoa. "Trains are _way_ cool."

"That they are, bairn," he said, tilting his head to the side as the compartment's lights flared to full power. "Ah, the Chute — always good for a few dreary hours. Good day, sirs." Saluting, the two railroad employees left the car, busily discussing the stopover on the island.

"The Chute?" Dryn was close to the window, straining to see the feature the Conductor had mentioned. "I don't see… Oh! It's a tunnel. Why was he all worked up over a tunnel? We've gone through lots of them."

"Yes, we have," Zell said, pulling the by now familiar paper sack from its duffle as the train plunged down into the cement-lined passage. "But the Balamb Chute goes under the ocean. Right at this moment, there's about twenty feet of water on top of us. Midway, there'll be almost a hundred feet of water, there over our heads, and the only thing keeping it from crushing us are specially crafted adamantine struts reinforcing the concrete. Marvel of engineering…" He sighed, then shook off dark thoughts. "There's a sandwich left, if you want it."

"Nah, I'm not hungry yet."

Seifer _was_ hungry, but could wait until Balamb, where they were meeting an old friend of Zell's at a café to pick up the keys to his Ma's house. He understood the younger man's suddenly somber mood: His adopted father had died during the collapse of the first tunnel, a week before its completion. Not a single family in the island's township had escaped the disaster unscathed; nearly an entire generation of Balamb men had been lost in the frigid waters, the construction firm in charge filing bankruptcy under the onslaught of lawsuits that followed. Zell never talked of it; what little Seifer knew had come from the papers that had circulated around Garden at the time. _Hundreds Lost in Freak Accident, City in Mourning_ the headline had read, not sensationalism, but hard fact. The tunnel had eventually been rebuilt, and a bronze plaque covered an entire wall of Balamb Station.

_We Persevere_ it stated, along with the names of the dead. The citizens of Balamb embodied that ideal. He remembered laughing, the first time he'd seen the memorial. A lifetime ago, the arrogant boy he'd been had laughed at tragedy; now, he understood it first hand.

Dryn didn't know. He'd never been told. Instead he peered out the window in wonder, into the inky blackness which the brightly burning lights of the train defied. And he grew bored, turning away to chase after Saisei, and to be chased by her.

They played charades, there in the solitariness of the last car, with no other passengers around to be disturbed by their antics. They made a contest of reciting the provinces of Esthar, which Zell won by recalling their ownership of the Eldbeak peninsula. They sang songs in rounds, and were finishing up with _The Court of King Cactuar_ when the train left the Chute and emerged into the dazzling sunlight of late morning.

Catching his breath after the song, Seifer called Saisei over to put on her halter and leash. Zell emptied the overhead storage, checking the bags to make sure everything was in place and secured. They put on their coats — unnecessary for the warm weather, but easier than trying to carry them — while holding on to the seats as the train braked, coming to a gradual stop inside the station.

"Ready?" Zell asked his son. Dryn had picked up Saisei, much to her vexation; she'd be let down once they were outside, but until then, she was safer off the ground, and away from the trampling feet of the other passengers leaving the train.

"Yup."

They walked off the train into a swirling mass of people; there were those leaving, and those waiting impatiently to board, and those hawking trinkety souvenirs and bits of savory foodstuffs from carts. Yet overall the mood of the crowd was congenial. There was no pushing, no swearing; Balamb was a small town, its citizenry inherently polite.

Seifer took a deep breath, held it, then let it out as a slow, heart-felt sigh. With the rounded corners peculiar to Balamb architecture, doors and windows and the very ceiling overhead, it was like coming home. _Exactly_ like. He'd missed the tang of salt in the air; the seashell motif hidden within the larger spiraling designs decorating nearly every surface; the crash of the surf in the distance. Dryn had a grip on the back of his coat, and they waited while the crowd dwindled, sorting itself out.

"What do you think?" Zell asked his son, hovering protectively behind him.

"It's — strange. Everything's curved."

"You'll get used to it," Seifer assured the dark-haired boy, stepping forward now that the way was clear. "Just wait till you see the beach: It's awesome. I'll show you the tide pools. But first…" They were out of the station, and he was beginning to swelter inside his coat. "Which way to the café, Zell?"

The shorter man was about to answer when a shout rang out behind them.

"Stop him!"

They turned around to see an old woman crumpled to the ground, a young girl crouched by her side, holding a yellow handkerchief to the old lady's head, the material blooming with scarlet blotches. "Please," she begged, having gained their attention, pointing to a man running to the station's entrance. "He stole my grandmother's purse. Her pills are in there.." She pressed the handkerchief down harder, trying to staunch the flow of blood.

The thief had just set his foot upon the stairs leading up to the station when he staggered, the air around him igniting in a burst of flame while his clothes smoked. The next instant he was slumped to the flagstone entry, sound asleep.

"Cool!" Dryn whispered, his eyes wide, Saisei a squirming, barking threat in his arms.

Seifer stared, not at the thief, but at Zell. "You're not supposed to be Junctioned."

"Neither are you," the shorter man returned the accusation. "We've gotta get out of here before the police show. We'd hafta explain — and SeeD'll be called in, investigating… Like they can control who finds a Guardian Force."

"Shit. So your GF ain't one of Garden's?"

"No." Zell nudged his son, urging him to move, away from the gawking onlookers and those that recognized the telltale signs of magic. "I turned those in when I left. Yours?"

"Found it in a dumpster. Really!" he insisted at the other man's snort of disbelief.

"Great. Just — great." Zell gave a bitter laugh, leading them into an alley that would eventually meander behind the café where they'd planned on meeting Rascal.

Seifer laughed as well, dread a heavy weight constricting his chest. "Welcome home, Zell."

Dryn pouted, having set Saisei down to prance in front of them. "It was cool," he insisted, not grasping the ramifications of his family's good deed. "Way, _way_ cool."

The two blondes said nothing, walking close together, their shoulders occasionally bumping. They knew the consequences of their actions. Knew the implacability of Garden, when faced with a mystery. Knew the chances of escaping notice were practically nil.

They could hope, though. All they could do, was hope.

_**End Notes:** I've come to the conclusion that my decision to make all the Saisei stories a single scene was a mistake. A honkin' huge-ass mistake. Without scene breaks, I find myself struggling to find useless details to fill the chunks of time where nothing of any importance is happening. Result: A fic that drags on, and on, and on…_

_On that cheery note, the camp song they were singing was an adaptation of _The Court of King Caractacus _— made famous by Rolf Harris, though he's not the originator of the ditty. I think the song fits the world of ffviii rather well, actually, after the few modifications I made. Sadly, I can't write them here, because of FFnet's lyrics ban._

_For those interested in the various string figures mentioned, they can be found at _alysion (dot) org (slash) string (dot) htm._ (Hate you, FFnet, hate you hate you hate you!)_

_Esse owns not _Oh Henry!_ or _Sixlets_; they belong to Nestle and Hershey respectively, and sometimes to both at once, depending on which country you live in. Or they belong to neither. It's really hard tracking down current ownership, when Esse doesn't have the wrappers in front of her._

_:hurriedly hides the pile of Tootsie Roll wrappers adorning her keyboard:  
__Tootsie Roll is owned by Tootsie Roll Industries.  
__Esse is totally shutting up now._

_I was surprised with Khoral's anger; I ended up having to shut Word down, and coming back a day later to see if that's really the direction the story needed to go. It was. Khoral's been a good sport so far, but she'd had enough, and needed to vent. I can't help but feel sorry for her._

_It's been strange, writing these stories, where it's not about Seifer, or Zell, or Dryn — it's about the way they interact with each other, and the world around them. I don't know if that makes any sense; heck, I don't think I'm capable of explaining, or if it needs explanation. Just… What kind of a plot is 'They rode the train to Balamb'? Nothing exciting happened; there was no villain, no action, no climax, no resolution. They just — rode the train to Balamb._

_So, perhaps the entire fic was a mistake. But I like it. And I suppose that's all that really matters. Next fic — well, I think ya'll know what happens next fic. It's obvious enough, I could prolly skip right over it, and you'd still know all you need t' know about it. Please insert laughing emoticon here. Document Manager is a hateful, evil, sentient program bent on enslaving fanfiction writers the world over. Where's Neo now, huh?_


End file.
